Problems? No Problems, Dude!
by LibraMoon
Summary: Okay this is the Russia one-shot or two shot series. Formerly Agreeing is not accepting, the first two chapters are a complete story with non-con. After that is a new story arch. Featuring DarkRussia, 2P Russia x Fem America!
1. Chapter 1

_**For Kuyako, a reviewer that wanted a Dark!RussiaxAmerica one shot. (I'm assuming female, if not, just sub out the steamy bits for boy parts), I am not that great at writing noncon. This got really graphic though. **_

_**"Oh could you do a one shot with dark!Russia noncon where America accidentally agrees to became one with him in front of world meeting plz?"**_

_*****WARNING*** **_

_**Rated M. For rape. I am not picking on Russia, nor Russians. This author does not condone rape, the use of force, violence, or assault. **_

_**I own nothing. **_

OoOoOo

Russia wondered how long it would take for America to understand that he wasn't a country to be messed with.

She seemed oblivious so her obvious perusal of her. His violet eyes watched her, reveling in the swell of dark desire that permeated his senses. He could almost smell her from here. The scent that clung to her skin, making his mouth water with the desire to tear her apart.

He had forgotten long ago if it was a literal or a metaphorical sense.

"What are your plans for dinner?" Australia asked politely.

America shrugged casually. "Dunno. I was thinking about some fish and chips."

She flashed him an exaggerated wink.

"So England will pay?" Australia rebutted slyly.

"Oh you know me so well," she replied with a roughish smile.

It wasn't notoriety he wanted, nor power. Russia had both and he did not need some blonde female to get that. Her nation irritated him greatly for constantly casting aspersions on his own. America, the embodiment of her nation, did not appear to mind him over much.

Many times, it felt as if she were acting to keep herself on her high horse. Playing the hero. His lips twisted in distaste, a bitter tang on his tongue at the thought. She was very simple to figure out, and needlessly ignorant.

He despised her in the same breath that he wanted to crush her against him and make them one. His violet eyes narrowed as America laughed freely with Australia.

They did not fear her, for her stupidity or her loud-mouthed opinions. However, they still rushed to her for aid and trusted her even when she did interfere. Even though they claimed not too. America grinned and looked right through him as she scanned the room.

That was the part that gnawed at him night after night. That she no longer took him seriously. He was not just a wounded dog barking in the night.

He'd been patient. He'd been gracious. Russia had bided his time, but he would not keep himself in check much longer.

So he had resolved to ask her today, to become one with him.

He pushed back from his seat and approached the blonde who was still laughing with Australia.

"Do you wish to join me?" He asked, peering down at her with his same absent smile.

America looked up at him in surprise. She had not expected to see Russia anywhere near her.

It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, but she knew that relations between them were already lukewarm at best. Her blue gaze darted around to see some of the other nations watching them carefully. Some even paused in their dinner plans.

Dinner. Yes. She could go to dinner with him. He was asking her, after all, wasn't he?

One little meal. That is all it would take to diffuse some of the lingering tension.

America smiled, eyes crinkling happily in the corners. "I would love to join you," she said with her trade mark loudness.

The curiosity of the other nations seemed to be appeased, for when violence and bloodshed did not follow, they left chatting in various pairs or groups. Clueless as to what would happen only an hour later, America merrily collected her things, and walked with Russia.

She missed the look of unholy delight that spread across his features.

OoOoOo

He drug her limp body to the bed, tossing her on it non-too gently. Russia wasted no time in stripping her. He had been forced to subdue her the good old fashion way of a strong blow to the back of the head. America would be out for a while, but he needed that time.

Her body was soft and lush. He felt inflamed by it nearly instantly. He ran his hands over her shoulders, and thighs. His hand could span her waist. She was a rather delicate thing when he really looked at her.

Russia restrained her arms and legs to the bed. He knew of America's impressive strength, but he had things that would keep her advantage in check. He sat on the bed when his task was completed, and waited patiently.

It took over an hour for her to come to her senses. The blonde stirred slowly, clearly in pain. Russia relished the expression on her face. The curiosity and fear that stole over her face when she opened her eyes to see an unknown room all around her.

Her eyes immediately noticed him.

"What the _fuck_," she snarled at him. She tried to lunge for him, but it was futile. When she jerked forward and nothing happened, America noticed the restraints.

And her nakedness.

Russia giggled.

"Did you have a good rest, little Amerika?"

Her features pinched into a look of utter rage.

"You let me go this instant and I won't beat your ass into oblivion." She threatened, and he knew she meant it.

How amusing his little flower was.

"Let you go?" He asked in mock innocence. "I cannot do that."

"So sick son of a bitch," she hissed as she trembled in embarrassment. Her face was flushed a wonderful hue of red. "Do you get your rocks off on kidnapping people?"

He titled his head and pretended to actually ponder her words. His violet eyes narrowed on her face in a sinister manner.

"Oh but Amerika," he said with dark humor, "you agreed to join me."

Her blue eyes, so expressive, were wide with horror. She renewed her efforts to struggle. Russia laughed to himself at her plight. He took his scarf and wrapped it around her head, shoving it into her mouth as he pulled tightly.

She tried to snarl and bite, but it was no use. He gagged her efficiently, and thought the color of his scarf went nicely with her eyes.

He picked up a single red rose from his nightstand. He had prepared for America to be with him today.

He had honestly thought it would take a bit more coaxing than this, but he was not one to squander a present. His teeth gleamed in the dying sunlight that streamed through the windows. America likely cursed him in every language she knew. The thought pleased him.

He traced the tip of the rose up her stomach to the valley of her breasts. She was glaring at him, sharp and angry breaths escaped from her nose. Russia hummed a well known love song from his country, as he traced the rose up to one breast, circling her nipple and then to the other.

She tried to move her body away from him or press back into the mattress. However, she was unable to get away from the sensation of the rose on her skin. Russia smiled and traced a path up her neck, to her cheeks. Which were stained with her fury and fear.

The contrasting reds were simply delightful. Were he more inclined to paint, he would capture this moment to remember all his days.

He set the rose back down on the nightstand, and took off his coat. Her blue eyes widened and America tried to look elsewhere as she continued to swear at him though she was unintelligible. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and undid his belt. America tried to yank against the restraints again.

Soon, he stood before her naked, with lust and madness in his gaze.

Her back arched as she tried to bow off the bed to get free. It did nothing more than push her attractive breasts closer for him to see.

What an eager little thing his America was... if he had known she would agree so easily, he would have asked her years ago.

So much wasted time. A pity really.

"Sunflower," he crooned softly.

She tried to spit something at him, but the gag would not let her do much more than give muffled shouts. Such music to his ears. What pretty little sounds she made when she tried to please him.  
Because America wanted to join with him, and that it all that mattered now.

She would become one with Russia. She'd said so in front of the whole world.

What a good little pet he had.

Cruel fingers bit into her thighs and forced them further apart. America tried to kick and lash out, but she was restrained too well for that. Her blue eyes widened and her lips trembled in fear around the spit-soaked cloth.

Perfection.

He loved looking at the fear in her eyes, the concern for what they both knew was about to happen. _Amerika_... well... she was going to be his now. Forever and ever. No one would take her away from Russia. He'd kill them several times over for even thinking of trying.

His fingers pressed roughly against her dry entrance. Oh but that simply would not do! He needed her to be a sopping wet mess, so he could take her the way he wanted to. To degrade her and make this just that much more painful on her.

Russia hummed with excitement as he grabbed some lubrication out of his coat pocket. He had anticipated that America might resist him in this. The tiniest bit, but that was likely just her shyness getting the best of her. He laughed with a large smile on his face. His violet eyes bore into her misty blue ones.

Oh! Perhaps she was would cry! His poor little sunflower was just trying to get him all worked up. She was a tempting little thing. He flipped the cap and coated his fingers. Gently spreading the cool liquid, as he reached toward her again.

She closed her eyes and flinched at his slow, probing invasion. Russia nipped at her thigh, leaving a red mark. America kept her eyes closed and he could tell she was trying to pull herself away from the situation. Her arms yanked hard on her restraints, but it was all in vain.

He could almost hear her crying 'stop'.

All she managed were muffled screams of anger and shame. America tried to squirm her hips away from him to no avail. He wriggled his fingers inside, coating her insides with the slimy substance which smelled vaguely of strawberries and mint.

It reminded him of her fields which he had visited so very long ago. He licked a path up her thigh as his fingers plundered her core. America's crystalline tears of sorrow pooled and fell from her eyes. Silent, unlike her chocking cries.

His other hand pushed down on her other leg when she tried to draw them up, however her restraints kept her from doing much more than trembling as his thick fingers rubbed her velvety muscle. America slammed her head to the side, making a soft thud against the pillow.

The silken sheets were cool against Russia's skin. He would take her on silk, not cotton. His little flower deserved the best. This was not like the others. He lowered his mouth to her clitoris and swept his tongue across it.

America reacted as if he'd struck her with a livewire. She sobbed and tried to fight her shackles again. Russia watched her with hooded eyes, his gleeful delight etched in his features.

"We will become one, Da?"

He stroked his manhood. The thick shaft seemed to pulsate with his eagerness to be inside the female nation. He licked her again, sucking gently at her clitoris as America screeched at him, whimpering and snarling through the cloth gag.

He straightened to kneel between her opened legs. She tried to draw them up again, only to be stopped by both the restraints and his hand on her stomach.

He pressed the blunt head of his cock, nearly sighing as it rubbed along the inside of her thighs. He pushed forward and allowed the head to pry into her folds and then bump against her pulsing lips. She was warm and wet, but he could tell by the tears on her face and her thrashing that she was far from willing.

Except that she had agreed to this. Secretly, he knew she wanted to be joined with him. She had agreed in front of the other nations after all. She had sought to end this silly game they played. Russia enjoyed this sort of game far more than their petty squabbles and threats.

He grasped her hips and lifted her hips upward slightly. He drove forward, pushing his hard and throbbing prick deeper into her passage. America tried to resist, to squirm and he pulled her to impale her fully with a cry of triumph.

America's tight channel gripped him so sweetly, and he savored the feel of it as tears cascaded down her cheeks. She was openly sobbing now, and he rocked his hips against her gently. He withdrew an inch or two only to thrust into her deeper. She moaned in shame and anger beneath him.

Delightful. Everything about her was so delightful. Russia allowed a slight laugh to escape him as he leaned down and suckled at an exposed nipple. He bathed it with his rough tongue, enjoying the way it pebbled under his treatment.

He savagely reentered her body over and over again, all the while he whispered provocative and dirty things in his native tongue. America closed her eyes, trying to drown him out. He could see she was actually biting her gag, as if it would offer her some piece.

Russia chuckled darkly. Let her feel every inch of him. Let her know how long he'd been denied joining them together. He watched Nantucket bounce as he enjoyed her. He pawed at her breasts and nipped sharply at her neck with his teeth.

He did not want to do his new nation any irreparable harm. Oh no. Part of his twisted affection for America would have been classified as love by some. Ones like him would understand.

He ravaged her vigorously, enough to keep those pretty teeth biting against the gag as he groaned with pleasure. Her tight heat seemed to draw him in over and over, though she tried to evade his hands.

He plunged into her until his hips were steadily rocking and he was almost lifting her off the bed with each thrust. His face was smiling as he felt his end approaching. His seed would flood her womb, claiming her as his. It would make them one. His ownership over he would be complete. He bit at her shoulder and America shouted angrily as she sobbed.

Finally, he reached that pinnacle, and spent himself in her lush body. America trembled and keened sadly under him. He kissed her neck lazily. His temples sweat slicked as he pushed some of her hair out of her eyes.

America was pale and her eyes had a distant but dull look to them. Russia chuckled happily, slightly winded from the exercise as he loosened her restraints. Her hand and feet remained unmoving.

America was a trembling mess, and small splotches of blood stained the silk sheets. Russia did not mind in the slightest.

"Clean me up," he demanded with a sing-song note to his words.

Her red-rimmed blue eyes looked downward, as she sniffed back more tears. They were joined now, he could feel it. She could no longer deny him.

She winced as she sat upward, and her lower lip quivered.

"Да , сэр," She whispered and crawled toward him, still trying to cover her nakedness.

His darker nature enjoyed the sight she presented. Slightly broken, defiled by his seed, but his all the same. Her lips were red, and the corners of her mouth were nearly rubbed raw. He fisted a hand in her hair as her head neared his crotch.

The first light touch of her tongue on him sent a shiver up his spine. His flaccid manhood twitched as it stirred under her tongue.

He was very content with his sunflower. She preformed better than he would have hoped. Her mouth took him in, and he knew she would be able to taste herself on him. It gave him a thrill of dominance at her plight.

"Look at me," he said gutturally.

Her blue eyes were on him in an instant as he rocked himself into the moist heat of her mouth. He felt himself swelling, hardening again to the point where he would take her once more.

He shoved her back carelessly, noting with satisfaction the 'pop'ing sound that followed when he broke the seal of her lips around his shaft.

Her legs splayed as she fell upon the bed once more. Russia smirked and drug her toward his hips. He sunk his stiff member into her with a sigh of relief as she cried out in pain. His thickness caused her to weep once more, and he hissed his delight in her ear. Her abused folds accepted him without choice. She was still wet from his previous climax.

Claimed. That is how he saw her. Claimed and his for the taking.

And he would take her over and over again. His skin burned for the touch of hers. HIs ears craved the sound of her cries and whimpers of distress. Russia greedily drank in the sight of her, filled with his cock. America tried to cover her face, but he slapped her hands away.

He continued to take her well into the night. He emptied himself into one last time before drawing her close and dragging a sheet up over them. The poor girl was barely even conscious as he praised her, and rubbed her lower back softly.

Tomorrow he would take her home and chain her up again.

Where she could never escape.

Violet eyes watched her with a mad glow to them, and a power she would not be able to fight. She had become one with him, and he would keep them joined forever.

Even if it ended up killing her.

_**oOoOo**_

_**Okay, no more noncon for a while. I am going back to happy things. **_

_**Thanks for reading!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**I have had a request to extend the one-shot with the reactions of the other nations.**_

_**Thank you for reviewing! Rated M. I own nothing.  
Author does not condone rape, violence, force, or harm.**_

OoOoOo

Russia pet her hair as she sat beside him at the first meeting she'd been allowed to attend in months. Her blue eyes were dull and listless. Outwardly, even the air around her seemed to choke and constrict the formerly jovial nation.

America had joined Russia. It was all over the news, the internet, the papers. She belonged with him and the other nations could only openly stare as Russia gave his customary wide smile. His eyes shone with delight and madness.

No one could see the bruises on her wrists and ankles from weeks of restraints, and the times when Russia felt his little sunflower needed to be 'reminded' about how much he adored her.

It was his form of love and he had so much love to give. Just for her. Always for her. America knew it because he told her often. Every time he claimed her, and every time he had to punish her for something she'd done he would whisper the words of his native tongue in her ears.

Though the things she had _done_ were often imagined. Russia knew very well that America had no way of contacting anyone . His eyes watched the others darkly. America was his pretty little sunflower. His to keep and play with. His to use and destroy if he wished it.

However, his twisted affection does not want to destroy her. No. He wants to keep her with him so she can never leave him. His darker nature would never allow that. She was his. Always.

His hand fisted in her hair momentarily, her head jerked slightly with the pull. America said nothing, nor did she voice any protest. Oh! She was such a well behaved little pet. Russia cooed at her gently, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

America stared blankly forward.

England looked at him with such sweet fury that Russia savored it as if it were the tastiest of dishes. Even her other allies scattered away from her now that she belonged to him. He could still hear the lingering cries of America's distress from taking her just that morning. Her sweet body yielded to his countless times.

Her screams, pleading, and finally begging had graced the halls of his home over and over again. He adored it when she broke slightly every time he took her.

She was perfection. Russia went back to petting her hair softly. He greatly admired the color and now that she was not always breaking the comfortable silence with her loudness, he found a new sort of affection for her.

America, sweet little flower that she was, knew better than to even look at another nation. Russia knew first hand just how tempting she could be. He had warned her not to anger him, lest her body pay the price. And, he would not accept payments in increments like China.

How amusing that thought was.

He chuckled lowly in his throat. America stilled, nearly unnoticeably. Russia smirked internally at her fear. Yes, he thrived on the fear she had for him. He reminded her of it nightly. He still had not grown tired of her. Even after these many months. Russia doubted he ever would tire of her.

His bed linens were constantly stained with her tears or her blood. It made his room seem so very welcoming when he'd come home to see her bound and trembling with wide but dull eyes. Yes, America had joined with him very well. She was better than he could ever have imagined. It was not like it was with the others.

There was no 'hero' waiting in the wings to take her away from him. No, he'd captured the hero and bent her to his will.

Now she sat at his side, having earned the privilege with her good behavior.

There was not an inch of her that he had not touched, stroked, or ravaged repeatedly.

Even the other superpowers turned a blind eye to America. That pleased Russia. Only he was allowed to bask in the glory of his pet. It crossed his mind to have her sit on his lap while he played with her golden locks. America would not mind.

She cared for him.

He knew it. The way she screamed and sobbed told him all he needed to know. And oh, but how delightful she was when she was barely conscious pleading with him to stop! He'd never stop. She ought to know that by now. A cruel smile rested on his features.

Something, a flicker of recognition, flashed across Denmark's eyes and he looked away from Russia. Hungary looked away from America, as did the Baltic nations. They understood Russia a little more, but they had not been given the greatness of his desire.

He saved that all for his little sunflower.

Spain found a spot on the wall interesting, that was away from Russia and his new nation.

Russia had taken everything from her. Her pride, independence, and ability to fight him. He provided her clothes, and arranged her hair as he found it pleasing. She was like a gorgeous doll, his little flower.

If anyone wanted to try and take her away from them, he'd unleash a war to end all wars. He'd make them watch as he cut out their eyes and force-fed them to any nation that even thought of touching America. They all knew that. The look of madness and unholy delight swirling in his violet eyes was all the warning they needed. Australia bit the inside of his cheek, furious at himself for not stopping it from happening.

She'd been talking to him when Russia had asked her the question. Was he partly responsible for America's new position?

America swallowed, and Russia gazed at her, watching carefully.

Did his pet want to be punished? She must have. For she was looking at Lithuania with unshed tears in her eyes. Her tears were just for Russia. Only he was allowed to make her cry. Just him. Her tears and broken spirit were all for him. He deserved them for treating her so kindly and being so patient with her.

His fingers moved from her hair to the base of her neck where it curved to her shoulders. A punishing grip was all she needed to remind her what was going to happen now. America's face betrayed nothing, but he could smell the fear on her.

Delightful. She was so delightful.

Germany looked furious, ready to rip Russia's hand off of her, but it would do nothing. Russia mocked them all openly. He wanted to crush their faces beneath his boots so that he could take America, claim her again, upon the broken corpses of the other nations.

What a delectable fantasy. He leered at her, in his own special way, his twisted desire surfacing again. He was a superpower in his own right and did not need America in any way other than to satisfy the dark needs of his psyche.

If he had blinked, he would have missed the tiny tic in her cheek and her racing pulse.

She knew what was coming next.

"Excuse us," Russia said casually, pushing back from the meeting table. America followed suit without a word. Her eyes downcast and manner composed. Just as he wished for her to act. It would make breaking her with all of them only a few feet away all the sweeter.

"Now hold on-" Japan hedged politely.

Russia gave him a quelling look that caused the other nation to sit back and avert his eyes. The tall nation steered America toward the door with a hand at the small of her back. An assertive touch, a display of his dominance over her. As well as a taunt to the others.

OoOoOo

He makes her cry, and beg. Most of all, he makes her bleed.

A trembling and pitifully whimpering mass is what he reduces her too. Her eyes burn at him as she understand with sickening clarity that every nation at the meeting has heard them.

He's made sure to have her screams nearly rattling the windows. The other nations could do nothing. She'd joined Russia. She'd given consent in front of over a dozen witnesses.

The taller nation gives her a biting kiss.

"I hate you," she whispers in a broken voice. "With every fiber of my being, I hate you."

Russia grins in delight.

America nearly made him blush, with the sweet words she spouts.

Such a sentimental nation.

And he loves her, in his own twisted way. Because of that she'll never be free of him.

The best part, is America knows that too.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I have no idea what I am doing! YAY!**_

_**Rated M, I own nothing**_

OoOoOo

America could only stare in horror as the alien technology, Tony had specifically told her not to touch, shot out a large bolt of blue that expanded and formed some freaky ass 'Sliders' portal on her living room wall.

Her left eye twitched as something emerged from strange glowing blue portal.

Fuck. She hoped it did not ruin the carpet again. Replacing it was always such an expensive pain in her ass.

A head came through, and she shrieked to high heaven as the rest followed.

Dear Lord! She'd summoned a poltergeist!

It... he... looked just like Russia. Except that his hair was brown. And, he didn't have a pinkish colored scarf, it was deep red. His black jacket was not like the tan one she knew so well. Her blue eyes widened as her mind screamed. 'What the FUCK?!'

She made a sound, a cross between a gasp and a groan. She clutched at the hem of her shirt as his red eyes locked on her. She watched as he arched a brow at her. He tilted his head. A calm look overtook his features.

"_Privet_." He said watching her carefully.

"Uh.. yeah. Hey dude." America said, trying to back up slowly, just in case she needed to go get her gun and chase the bastard out of her house.

Seriously.

What was this?!

He drew back a bit, confusion briefly flashed across his face. Then annoyance followed soon after.

"Amerika? What game are you playing? Why did you change your hair color?" He snarled in a menacing manner that did more to turn her one than frighten her. He had the same big ass coat on, but the black made him seem just a touch more dangerous and mysterious.

Okay, where the hell had that come from?

She blinked and shook her head. No. Obviously Tony's tech was messing with her.

"Um?" She tried again, attempting to figure out what the heck he was talking about. She glanced at her hair quickly. Yeah it was the same color it had always been. "I am America, yeah. But, I didn't color my hair, and-"

"Why are you wearing glasses?" The dark haired Russia rumbled, interrupting her.

"What? I've always worn Texas," she answered with earnest confusion.

He stared at her, and she felt heat on her cheeks. She wasn't used to Russia watching her like that. As if she were some tasty snack or something he wanted to puzzle out. She rubbed the back of her neck and chuckled nervously.

"Okay, so here's the thing... and don't get mad," America chattered on in a rambling fashion as she smiled widely at him. She really hoped he wouldn't get upset. She could only deal with one Russia at a time.

Unless... this was the same Russia. But, that didn't seem right. She tugged nervously at her clothing.

Something in his face changed briefly, the annoyance disappeared as did the traces of suspicion in his red eyes. A wolfish smile stole over his features, and his eyes darkened until they were nearly crimson.

"But, you see, I touched this thing that belongs to Tony and-"

"Tony?" The Russian nation interrupted in a velvety purr that had America coming up short as her brain stalled. Russia's accent had never sounded so sexy before.

Wait, what?

No.

"Ye-yeah," she stuttered and mentally wanted to kick her own ass. She should appear fearless and all heroic. It was not coming off that way though, she sounded like a dazed idiot.

"Who is Tony, Amerika?" He asked lowly, and took a step toward her.

America forced herself to stand her ground, but her eyes widened and she swallowed quickly.

"He's uh... my roommate. Well, he sorta lives with me sometimes, 'cause he's from outer space and all."

Recognition flashed through his red eyes and he seemed undisturbed by her announcement. Okay, that was strange. Normally dropping the hint that he was an alien made people pause.

She licked her lips, as her mouth went dry and she noticed the he watched her with a nearly hungry expression. Alright, so Russia had never looked at her like that before.

Was this actually Russia though?

"Are you Russia?" She asked, absently saying out loud her thoughts. For some reason she felt like a colony again, that was meeting the larger nation for the very first time.

White teeth flashed briefly behind an amused smile. It looked both wicked and somehow alluring. America blushed as her thoughts went to a strictly 'R' rated section. Was it hot in here? It felt hot. Her blue eyes stared at him for a moment longer than was needed.

With her mouth slightly open.

America shut her mouth and turned her head to the side briefly, her eyes snuck a peek at him from under her lashes.

"Da," he told her, chuckling lightly and the sound was nearly melodious. It did not grate on her nerves in the slightest.

"Oh," she responded with a her lips forming a quick 'o'.

Her mind decided to kick her hormones around for a moment, and it gave her a chance to come to her senses. This was a problem. This was a huge freaking problem. She couldn't have two Russia's in the world.

Could she trade hers for him?

Where had that come from? She blushed harder.

"I should... I should make a quick call," she babbled happily, trying to keep the other nation at ease.

"You're not running from me, are you?" He asked in a voice that screamed 'sin' and the way he quirked his brows would have made a lesser nation fall to their knees.

She was America though, so she only bit back a near moan. Not that, there was anything to moan about. Clearly he was Russia and she... never felt anything like _that _for him. America tugged at the collar of her shirt. Unintentionally exposing a little more of her soft and smooth skin.

His eyes nearly feasted on the innocent display. America felt the temperature in the room heat up a degree or two. She didn't know how he could stand it in that scarf and coat.

She laughed nervously.

"No, no. I don't run," she said with a grin. "Why don't you just get... comfortable and I'll come right back." She promised readily.

She noticed that he briefly glanced around again. She took that moment to hurry down the hallway. She was totally not running.

Nope. Not at all.

America whipped out her cell phone and took a deep breath as she tried to clear her head.

She frantically dialed Russia, the real Russia's number, it rang quickly. And continued to ring as she attempted to peek down the hall to see if he was still in her living room.

Yes, he was.

And... he was staring right at her...

America held in the dramatic yelp with admirable effort. She wondered if he was so intense when it came to-

Whoa. Whoa. No. She did not need to open up that door. That door was booby trapped with a dozen nukes, and laser shooting ghosts. It was a large freaking 'no'.

The phone just kept ringing. So help Russia, if he put her to voicemail -if she survived this- she was going to fucking kill him! Dead! She would kill him dead and -

"Amerika?" The familiar voice came over the phone and she nearly sighed with relief.

"Oh! Russia. Dude, look I-" Her blue eyes glanced up to see the other Russia was coming closer toward her, that same sensual smile on his face. "Uh. No. Not you."

She pointed at the phone. "Russia, Russia."

There was silence on the other end.

"Have you been drinking again?" Russia's timbered voiced said again, with slight amusement.

"What? No. It's like one in the afternoon here," she said slightly distracted. "Look, I could... really use your help right about now-"

"My help?" He asked again, clearly laughing on the other end. "I would not help you."

The dark haired Russia was nearing her and her heartbeat quickened.

"Put down the phone, little _Amerika."_ The alternate Russia all but purred with his dark red eyes boring into hers. There was a promise in his words. It promised pleasure and carnal delights.

America nibbled at her lower lip. This was wrong. This was so damn wrong.

"I really think you want to help me with his," she said in a somewhat strangled tone as she clutched the phone tighter.

"Oh? And why would that be?" Russia asked, his voice suggesting he was only humoring her and was readily growing annoyed.

"Because there is another _you_ in my house." She said in a rush.

"What?" Russia demanded with an tone of disbelief.

"Dude, I am staring at you... or a version of you right now. And, let me tell you I- What are you doing?" She half-hollered as the dark-haired Russia put his arms on either side of her, effectively trapping her against the wall.

"You are such a jumpy little thing," the male in front of her rumbled out as his gloved hand reached for her face. Perhaps it was because he had just popped up from the proverbial nowhere, but whatever it was, she stilled. America's cheeks heated as his hand cupped her face and his thumb stroked her skin gently.

"What happened? What is going on?" Russia asked, clearly startled by what America had said, as well as the voice that sounded like his own.

The taller nation plucked the phone from her grasp as she stared at him in slack-jawed fascination. Those his eye color should have been a little disconcerting, it actually wasn't because there was a softness in his gaze. However, there was still the obvious ability to cause pain. Okay, that part she knew well enough. He did seem rather... strong.

America felt a little bit hotter all of a sudden. His coat brushed against her shirt, and she slowly lowered her eyes.

He tilted her chin up, and without words, she knew he wanted her to look at him. She took a steadying breath and moved her gaze upward to his with equal slowness.

She felt a jolt as their eyes met. Red clashed with blue and could feel the heat radiating off of him, despite the gloves. He was so close. She'd never been this close to Russia before.

Well, her Russia. Not that he was _hers_. Gah! Her brain was not working.

"Uh..."

"Such pretty eyes," he whispered as his face lowered toward hers. Their breaths mingled for a single second in time, but she was left yearning for the touch of his lips against hers.

"Amerika?" Russia called again from the phone. "Amerika? If this is some childish trick-"

The dark-haired Russia gave a secretive smile as he held the phone to his ear.

"Amerika is... indisposed at the moment." The sinister-sweet way his words curled around her ears had America felling wrongly turned on by all of this.

This wasn't right. She'd never be attracted to Russia! No form of Russia! So she was going to firmly ignore the rush of heat that pooled in her loins. And, the way it was getting harder to breathe normally.

"But I will take good care of her, da?" The dark haired Russia promised as he clicked the phone closed over a stream of Russia curses.

Okay, the look he gave her was fucking hot. America felt her knees tremble a bit.

His red eyes were half-lidded as he gazed at her, that same wicked smile was apparent and she was nearly gripping the wall for support. She made no move to remove his hand from her person. She should do that. Yeah. She would do that.

America's lips parted, and he took it as an open invitation. Before she could comprehend what was happening, his dark head dipped and he kissed her.

America couldn't explain why she let him though.

She could hear her phone ringing. Likely, Russia was calling her back. Something in her was coiling tightly at the touch of this unknown Russia and the tender way his lips melded with hers.

When he pulled back, she was nearly panting for breath.

"Tell me, little _Amerika_,"he asked lowly and the way her said her name should have been illegal for the things it did to her. "Do you have a non-aggression pact?"

Her brows furrowed in confusion. Yes, she did have those.

"Yes..." she said softly, her voice was slightly husky.

He lowered his lips to her neck, and she wove her hands into his hair. It was softer than she would have imagined.

He trailed wet kisses up to her earlobe. He nibbled on if briefly, causing her to clench her thighs together and fight off the heavy desire.

"Do you want to go break it in the bedroom?" He asked in a smoky whisper.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Dear Readers,**_

_**Alright, several of you wanted Russia coming to investigate and getting 2P Russia to back off. I read this as 'Jealous Russia'. For those of you from the Russian Federation, no offense is intended by ANY of this. **_

_**Rated M for implication. ;)**_

_**I own nothing.**_

OoOoOo

America took a breath, trying to calm the sudden thundering of her heart.

Break a non-aggression pact in the bedroom? He did know that they didn't hold meeting about that sort of thing in her room, right?

Wait.

When Russia pulled back, his red eyes danced like ruby orbs. They held a sense of desire and the raw want that blazed from them had America weak at the knees.

"B-bedroom?"

His smile was slow and easy as his arm lowered a hand to her hip. HIs fingers stroked playfully at the waistband of her pants.

"Amerika," he said in a sultry tone that had her practically ready to drag him there herself.

"Yes?"

"Where is your bedroom?" He asked as he lowered his head for another searing kiss.

The star-spangled nation blinked as stars practically danced through her brain. Um. Yes. Bedroom. Cool. Yeah. That place.

"Upstairs," she said in a faint voice as he pulled back. The look of unadulterated passion was something America had never seen directed at her.

She felt hot all over again.

"Show me, da?" He half-commanded and she nodded quickly.

"Okay," she responded dumbly. Her blue eyes gazed up at him with a sense of wide-eyed awe.

The dark-haired Russia bit her neck gently, before intertwining the fingers of her left hand with his.

"Lead the way."

She tried not to be overly excited by the promises of pleasure she detected in his words. She'd explain everything to Tony.

Later.

Like, a lot later.

They were kissing all the way to her room. More than once along the short journey, Russia pushed her up against the wall, and a battle of tongues would ensue. Though, America was not exactly trying to fight him. Well, maybe in the race to rip clothes off of him.

She was pulling his coat off of him, and he was going to the buttons on her shirt. She nearly stumbled twice, but he kept a firm grip on her to keep her from falling.

What a gentleman.

America kicked open the door to her bedroom as Russia's hands swept up to her chest. They languidly explored each other's bodies with tender touches and his searing kisses. Somehow they ended up naked on the bed. She did not care how it happened. They were there.

She pulled back the comforter and sheets with a slight giggle. The dark-haired Russia paused, and his red eyes darkened even more.

Oh yes! If he kept looking at her like that, she'd...

Wait... she had a USSR pun just a second ago. Crap. Something to do with the Kremlin. She didn't care anymore. Russia had laid her down gently, and was kissing her again. The heat of his body was threatening to have America swooning.

One moment he was causing her head to spin in a heady haze of desire, and the next there was a loud 'thud; followed by the weight of him being ripped off of her.

Uh... what?

America blinked at her Russia. Not that he was _hers_, but he had the same nearly white hair and the violet orbs she knew all so well for the years she'd spent glaring into them from across the world meeting.

"R-russia?" She breathed, with her voice still husky from desire. Her lips swollen from kisses, and her hair was slightly mussed. A expression that screamed 'take me now' was not quite gone from her features.

His face changed briefly, registering surprise as his eyes widened. In a moment, the look was gone but he gave his trade mark grin.

"Da?" He rumbled, and somehow is accent sounded a touch different from his counterpart.

"What are **you** doing here?"

This had all been a dream, then? And now it was some freaky nightmare. Oh Lord, please don't let this be the dream about the kitten eating the city again.

"You called me," he stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Well, theirs at any rate. "In fact, you specifically asked for my _help_." He enunciated the word with a near sing-song voice.

America scrambled to cover her exposed skin. A blush decorated her features. Not a dream.

Not. A. Dream.

Russia was standing over her bed and she was naked.

This was so FUBAR'd.

"Dude! What the actual _Fuck_ are you doing in my house?"

He gave her a contemptuous look. "I believe we just went over this," he pointed out as if she were a small and rather stupid child.

Some days he still wondered on that subject.

"No, I mean.. I got that part." She said hurriedly and reached for Texas. She put on her glasses and blushed even harder now that she could see Russia in front of her.

In her bedroom.

Huh. She should be screaming right about now. Yet, she was somehow turned on even more.

Yeah, she still felt strange about that. Even though she'd just been about to...uh...

America shook her head slightly, to clear her head and the mental images that were doing nothing to calm her raging libido.

"How did you get here so fast?" She asked, still confused by his all too sudden appearance. She most certainly was not internally pouting about being interrupted. Alright, maybe a little. Or, a lot. Whichever. She tightened her hold on the sheet and pulled it up a little higher.

"Oh that," Russia said dismissively, "nothing to worry about."

Actually, she was quite worried about that. How the hell did he get here in like- she glanced at her alarm clock- fifteen minutes. That wasn't even possible.

Was it?

Holy shit! Russia had perfected teleportation! America's eyes were as wide as saucers. She'd never tell him, but that was fucking awesome!

Oh no. That meant he could attack from anywhere at any time. She shifted lower into the bed. Oh Lord. It could practically be raining Russia.

A dirty side of her mind pondered if that was really such a bad thing.

She touched a hand to her face, hiding behind it momentarily as she cleared her thoughts. She could not, would not, go into this thinking about the things she and the other Russia were about to do.

Speaking of which.

What had happened to the other Russia? She glanced around, and saw him on laying unconscious.

"Why is he on the floor?" She asked, somewhat rhetorically.

"I rescued you." He proclaimed with a wide smile. His hands clasped firmly behind his back as he waited for some sort of praise.

Well, good luck with that. Rescued her? Ha! Rescued her. She was the United States of - wait. She tilted her head to the side. That didn't sound right at all. She wasn't in any danger.

"How?" She questioned, with her brows furrowing in confusion.

He beamed at her. "Magical pipe of pain!" He proclaimed giddily and there was music that accompanied his announcement as he produced a metal pipe. Alright, she'd seen that before, but the music was new. She checked around.

Was that her phone going off?

No?

Huh.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She scolded as she leaned over the side, sheet still keeping most of her modesty in place, toward the fallen Russia. Great. She'd finally had been getting along with, some form, of Russia and he ends up brained in the head with a pipe!

Yes, that scarily, did sum up her love life.

She sighed heavily and glared at the Russia from her world. "Turn around." She said in a somewhat tired voice.

Maybe the other Russia would be alright after he woke up? A girl could always hope.

"Why?" He asked with more than a little suspicion.

America looked at him and then glanced down at the sheet she was clutching to hide her nudity. With an expression that read as 'Are you for real, right now?'.

"Why do you think?" She asked in a sarcastic manner.

"So that you may sneak up behind me and stab me in the back," he responded with a serious expression.

"What the hell dude?" She shouted at him and threw the nearest pillow with one hand. "I'm naked and want to put some clothes on!" She screeched.

Russia blinked. His violet eyes widened and then he glanced quickly at America, as if realizing for the first time that she was in fact nude, who was blushing until her whole face was a fetching shade of red. His eyes lingered on the sheet.

"Sometime today," she snapped, "please." She added as an afterthought.

"Ah. Da. Da, of course." He said after a moment and covered his eyes.

"Turn around, jackass!" She hissed with indignation.

Russia chuckled. "No, that would foolish."

America craned her neck to try and see if he was looking through his fingers. No, they were fully closed and Russia was waiting patiently for her to get dressed.

Did he really think she was just going-

Then again, it was Russia.

"I..."the woman said, clearly at a loss for words. However, she quickly regained her senses. "If you peek... so help me God, I will kick your ass!"

The taller nation from her world snickered at what he considered an empty threat. But she was epically sincere. It was also her house damn it!

"You are so rude America." He chastised, nearly playfully.

She stared at his covered face balefully. "How'd ya figure?"

Yeah, this she simply had to hear. She slid out from under the sheet and quickly grabbed her under things.

"I come to your aid. I save you from nearly being ravaged and -"

She paused, as she snapped her bra into place. She shook her head and put on her underwear. She glanced around for her shirt, more than a bit distracted.

"What? What the hell are you talking about?" She asked, without the usual ire she normally had. America couldn't really get all that mad if he thought he was saving her.

As if she would ever need saving. Bah!

"Clearly he was trying to force you." Russia said patiently. Though his hears were listening for the sound of a gun cocking or some sort of treachery.

She remained absolutely silent but stared at him as if he were crazy. Russia was humming one of his national songs as he waited for her to say he could look.

Well, she had to give him that. He was a respectful sort of guy. Not quite the same as his counter-part, but close.

She put a hand on her hip as she continued to process what he was even saying.

"I was not trying to take advantage of her," The dark-haired Russia said, seemingly haven awoken from his impromptu nap. America jumped at his voice. Her state of undress still painfully known to the woman.

"Damn it," she whispered, grabbing a new shirt out of her dresser drawer.

"Can I uncover my eyes yet?" Russia asked in a bored tone, but America noted the way his posture stiffened.

"No!"

"It is a lovely sight, to be sure," The dark-haired version said with a grin that could incline a nun to sin.

Russia took his hands off his face. His violet eyes stared at his alternative self with a dark look to them. However, when he happened to glance at America, she was still only in her undergarments and her focus was on his counterpart as well.

"You really are a charmer," America said, as she tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear.

"Explain why you were forcing yourself on Amerika," Russia said in a cheerful voice.

America shivered at the sound. That was the dangerous voice her Russia had.

"I was not forcing myself on her at all," The red-eyed nation replied with a seductive grin toward the female nation.

A resounding thud echoed through her room as the dark-haired Russia pitched face-first into her bed.

"Geez!" America screeched as she was startled. "Why did you do that?"

"He lied to me," Russia said happily as if that was reason enough. "I do not like when someone lies to me."

The air around him seemed to pitch and change. America laughed nervously, and pulled on the shirt. Feeling really exposed under the stare of the violet eyes she knew so well. Russia was watching her intently. His face was not smiling, nor did he seem to be anything other than displeased. She shifted, trying to cover more of herself with her arms.

This was... hell. This was hell.

And he'd just beamed the other him with a pipe again!

The blood was never going to come out of her comforter. God bless it. She had just gotten that too. However, she was concerned about the dark-haired nation, so she moved closer toward him.

Only to have Russia stop her with a wide smile.

She scowled at him. Then recalled that he had been trying to 'protect' her from... himself. Huh. That sounded like a bad romance movie. The female nation gave a weak smile in return.

"It wasn't a lie," she informed him, trying to gentle the news so that it did not shock him overmuch.

He was silent, and then started to laugh heartily. He swung his pipe over his shoulder and grinned at her.

"Such humor!" He added after a moment. As he waggled his brows.

America stared at him stonily.

"I'm not joking."

There was an awkward pause and the pair exchanged a glance. His eyes were assessing, but America's blushing and fidgeting form told him that she was only telling him the truth.

Well, that caused a bit of an even longer awkward pause. He pointed at her, with wide eyes as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

"This was... _consensual_?" A strange look flashed across Russia's face.

America slowly nodded. God this was embarrassing.

"You would... have...?" he gestured to the unconscious form on the bed.

She nodded again.

"Yes," She said softly, "I was going to."

Russia put a hand under her chin and tilted her face upward as he searched her features. The other still held the metal pipe. Reflexively, she brought her gaze to his. Violet clashed with sky blue. America was assaulted with the images of when his counter-part had done something very similar. Her pulse quickened at where that had led her.

Except, this was her Russia. The one that was constantly hostile toward her and she was constantly hostile toward him. Their history was fraught with mistrust and unfortunate conflicts. It was unfortunate now that she thought about it. Once, a very long time ago, Russia had been her friend. Dare she say it, even close to an ally.

However, that was centuries in the past now. What a pity.

His violet eyes darkened as America made no move to slap his hand away or escape. His face neared hers, and she could not explain why her heart was threatening to leap out of her chest again. It made some sort of twisted sense with his counterpart.

But, she'd never had those thoughts about Russia. About his stupid tan coat and how warm it would be around them both. Or how she wondered if his hands were capable of a gentle touch. Or-

Wait. No. No she'd _never_ had those sorts of thoughts. The very idea was worthy of ridicule. Because they were destined to fight each other. To opposed one another. To despise each other.

Right?


	5. Chapter 5

_**Okay, first of all... I saw the mounting requests! So yes, a CanAme one shot series will come into existence. Along with a smutty Germerica series. As well as the China one shall be updated. UKUS (1650) also has a chapter under construction.**_

_**This is based off the movie TIMER. (totally messed with some parts though) The idea that soul mates have an exact moment they will meet each other due to watches implanted in their wrists. Tweeked a bit, and will be a story arch. **_

_**I own nothing. Yay for RusAme!**_

OoOoOo

_"Timer! Take the guess work out of love!"_

The stopwatch that would tell you when your soul mate was destined to meet you, and more importantly, who it was.

It was only installed in one country, after years of political debate, and drew a massive amount of tourism as people the world over wanted to know who their true love was.

The country of Sweden.

OoOoOo

The day Ivan met his soul mate, there was a natural disaster.

He was seven, and griping his father's hand as tightly as he could. It was a day he would, almost, never forget. The happiest and worst day of his entire life.

And, it would all come into play in mere hours.

His mother juggled his little sister on her hip, as she shushed the five year old. Natalia had complained endlessly about how tired she was. Ivan was sleepy as well, however he was a big boy and refused to acknowledge such things. Especially when his father was giving him that look that suggested to the boy that he was very pleased that Ivan had not complained once.

His older sister tried to help keep Natalia calm, but so far it had proved unsuccessful. They were finally returning home from the family vacation that his mother had kept insisting would be filled with fun. However, Ivan had only found it strange and his father was constantly doing business over the phone. Yet, he was happy at this moment to be going on the plane again. Ivan loved flying with a passion.

However, there was something for which he was greatly excited. Though, he had not wanted to tell his parents about. Last night, his wrist clock had beeped at him, and the sleepy violet eyes of the boy beheld the fact that the screen was no longer blank.

Ivan knew it was important. Even an idiot would know that the watch held a high amount of significance. His mother had told him so, as had his father. The watch was special, and it would tell Ivan who he was destined to marry. Natalia had wailed angrily when Ivan had it implanted in his wrist, insisting that he was 'hers'.

Violet and trusting eyes had watched the whole procedure occur. There was no pain and only a little discomfort. His father had praised Ivan for being so brave. It had been a day that made his chest puff out in pride.

HIs older sister had one as well, hers had the numbers that foretold when she would meet her soul mate. Ivan considered this something akin to a playmate, but like his mother, because father had used her as the example. So, Ivan concluded with his seven-year-old logic that the watch gave him the person that would love him as mother loved father.

Irunya's watch had a very long time on it. Mother had consoled his older sister over the fact. Because Irunya was almost ten and that meant that she understood some things more than he. He had tried to cheer her up, after mother had offered to make them some sweet cakes. He gently patted her shoulder, as a good brother should, and told her that his watch was still blank.

Even with watery, red, and puffed eyes. Irunya smiled at him, and was quick to reassure him that it was alright. Perhaps his soul mate was not old enough yet to have the watch. The age requirement was five years, and he should not be discouraged.

He wasn't. He knew that when it was time, the numbers would appear in bright red and start to count down, as they did for Irunya. She kissed the top of his head and told him that he was likely to have the sweetest person as his soul mate. Irunya also said that when he met his soul mate, they would be able to stay together forever.

That delighted Ivan, for he would never be alone. He detested playing by himself as it was boring and he would much rather have someone by his side that would always want to be around him. Even during bedtime and school. Since mother and father did not go to school now that they were together, Ivan also concluded that it meant he would be allow do choose to go to school or not.

However, his screen had remained blank for two years. Until last night. He glanced at his wrist again, never letting go of his father's hand. He heard the adults speaking and the loud paging overhead, but he did not speak Swedish. Only father did.

Ivan felt a swell of excitement and he smiled widely. Wider than he ever had before. It said that he only had a few hours until he met his playmate. No, soul mate. So therefore, the best sort of play mate. He ought to tell his parents, but he wanted to make sure he liked his soul mate first. Before he introduced whoever it was.

His violet eyes wandered over the many bustling people of the airport. He wondered if he would meet them on the plane. That did not leave him very much room to play with them first to see if they were acceptable to show to his parents. However, as his father often said, he would deal with the matter as it came. Not before.

The wide smile never faltered as he patiently watched the numbers count down. Not long now.

OoOoOo

It had been a storm that had formed and come about too quickly for a full and proper evacuation to take place. The last thing that had been expected, though monitored, was the cyclone that hit landfall and the massive surges of water that gushed forward into every conceivable nook or cranny. Several hundred thousand homes were nearly instantly destroyed, some actually were picked up by the forced of the water as it slammed into the foundation and carried the destructive debris further along.

Ivan knew something was wrong when his father's eyes became tight with worry and the faintest hints of fear. The people that had been clustering inward due to whatever was being blared overhead, scattered and sudden panic descended like a wave of hell over the people inside the rapidly flooding airport.

A storm of that magnitude had not been seen in Sweden since 1905.

Somewhere between the screams of his mother and sisters, the people stampeding to get away, and the water that followed; Ivan lost his hold on his Father's hand. His violet eyes widened as the slurry of black water, filled with bits of trash and rubble cascaded through a window that fractured into a million pieces under the pressure. He reflexively turned as it rained glass. Ivan felt the cut on his cheek as he hollered for his father.

However, his voice could not carry over the rushing water, and the screams of people. Soon, it was freezing cold liquid sloshing up to his knees. Someone crashed into him, and he tumbled to the water. He coughed and sputter, as he came back upward. His hands flailed and his feet lashed out. Ivan moved himself onto his feet, fighting against the water.

Panic started to set in, and he called out desperately for his father. Then for his mother, and sisters. However, he could not see any of them. Instinctually, he moved backward toward the wall and watched with wide eyes as too many people continued to move about. Now they were treading water as they passed him by.

Several had children, his age or older, but when he attempted to call out to them for assistance, they refused to stop. Or they could not understand him. Father had been the one to talk with the strange people. He told himself not to cry.

Boys did not cry, especially big boys. He would have to find his family. They were lost. Just as he was.

The water continued to rise, and someone grabbed him roughly. Ivan let out a shout of distress. He locked eyes with an adult he did not recognize. They said something to him rapidly, and he did not understand a single word. It made him even more distressed. Who was this person? What was happening? Where was father? Where was Mother?

The adult placed him up on a higher structure and pointed up. It flashed across his brain that he was supposed to climb. The red-haired man was telling him to climb. He nodded numbly and began scrambling up as a dull thump echoed behind him.

Ivan glanced over his shoulder and the red-haired man was gone. He bit back a whimper. Be strong. He would be strong.

With trembling hands, wet from the water and weak from the cold, Ivan continued to pull himself up as if his life depended on it. He was too young to truly comprehend that it actually did. He pulled his body over the last hurtle of a railing that separated him from the safety of the next floor. There was eerie silence that was not even interrupted by the thundering of his heart.

Ivan did not see anyone. No adults... no other children. The lights flickered and snapping sounds could be heard barely over the howling winds that battered the building. Ivan blanched as it swayed under the force of the winds. He noticed the water had continued to follow him upward. It was as if the whole of the airport was filling.

He prayed his family was alright. That they had made it to safety.

He paused, something like speech came out from somewhere off a ways.

"_Help!"_

He followed the sound, the pitiful and plaintiff cries of someone. It almost sounded like his sister Natalia. However, the pitch was wrong or off. He slowly made his way around the corner as whoever it was cried out again.

"_Mama! Help! Help!"_

Ivan tried to hurry, he truly did. However, the water would knock him backward and he tripped more than once. His face was cut by a bit of free floating metal and he let out a small whimper.

_"Mama!"_ That word he understood, but he did not know the one from before. The violet eyed Russian boy shivered with the cold and the wet. He ignored the flickering of the lights and just how quiet everything had grown.

He was afraid, however, he did not want to stop. Someone needed him. He would tell father all about it, when he... found... father. Tears prickled at Ivan's eyes, the only bit of warmth he felt over the storm surge. Yet, he could not let them fall.

The flickering stopped, and settled into darkness. He placed a hand on the wall, watching briefly as the water traveled downward, he swallowed heavily as he noticed the orange-red glow emanating from the growing screams.

"_Mama!_ _Help!"_

He wanted to speak, but he found he couldn't think of anything, his body moved forward nearly of its own accord. HIs battered and small form moved into the room, a rest room, where he heard the girl.

It was a girl. He could see that clearly. Pinned under a stall door, her blonde hair was drenched and her face was red with panic. Violet eyes met bright blue. Vivid blue. Ivan stared as she screamed, trying to push up from the floor as the water threatened to drown her in her current predicament.

"_Help!"_ She wailed, and Ivan could not actually understand what she was saying. She coughed and sputtered, taking a gasping breath as the water hitched higher.

However, he could see the distress on her face. Something crackled wildly, and he flinched. He nearly took a step backward, as he noticed the fire that had started from some power source which had been drenched by the sea water.

He stilled. This was very dangerous.

_Ting. Ding. Ting. Ding. Ta-ting. Ta-ting._

Ivan's eyes widened as the his wrist began to chime. His clock. He had forgotten all about it. He tore his gaze away and glanced down at his wrist. It was at all zeros.

_Ping. Ting. Ping. Ting. Da-dum. Da-dum._

His head snapped up at the answering chime. His violet eyes clashed with bright blue, but heavily panicked eyes, once more. Before her head disappeared under the water once more. His heart nearly stilled in his chest.

No. Could it be?

The girl trapped and crying out for help in a foreign language was his soul mate. He noted the fire once more, and the fact that she had yet to resurface.

And Ivan, brave little Ivan, narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest in determination. He was going to save her. Whoever the girl was, she was Ivan's. The clock said so.

He waded through the cold and the muck, his short legs drenched as his clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. He ignored the danger, and the crackling of the exposed wires as they caught a flame. His numb hands reached in the dark water and grasped the stall door. He pushed with all his might, but she was wedged.

Ivan took a deep breath and forced his body to push once more. Like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point, something snapped and suddenly he was moving toward the wall. Well, actually he was falling, but as he smacked into the wall, he heard her break the surface and start coughing.

She coughed and hacked and sputtered. Ivan shook as he moved to her side to check on her. He muttered a reassurance that always worked with Natalia. The little blonde girl all but threw herself at Ivan. Despite the way her lower lips trembled and the fact they were both turning slightly blue.

He wrapped his arms around her. The wet sound of their clothing squelching was oddly reassuring that she was safe. She continued to cough and cry. Ivan was glad she was alright. Very glad. He smoothed her hair down, another gesture of comfort as she wailed against him.

It was alright for her to cry. She was a girl.

He looked back at the fire that was spreading over what little dry area remained and the crackling of the wires. His violet eyes widened as he recalled that they were in a great deal of danger.

"I'll keep you safe," he swore to her, in Russian. The girl sniffled and coughed a bit more. Ivan needed to get them out of there.

"We must go somewhere safer." He continued with determination and surety. It is what his father would do. "Hurry."

The blue eyed girl, he liked the color, looked at him with confusion and fear evident on her face. She didn't say anything, but grabbed his hand and held onto him tightly.

Just as he had tried to hold onto father.

He flashed a smile, trying to keep her calm. He thought she looked the same age as Natalia. She was younger than him. So Irunya had been correct, his soul mate hadn't gotten her clock until sometime last night.

With his free hand, Ivan led them slowly out of the room. As they waded through the water that was up to his waist, and her chest. When it got higher still, he helped her swim as he moved through the debris, navigating it as best as he could.

OoOoOo

Somehow, through a miracle, or perhaps the grace of God, the young pair managed to make it a small area that had not been flooded. Wet, cold-moderately hypothermic-, and exhausted Ivan dragged his soul mate behind him.

She never let go of his hand. Not once. Even when the water had started moving again, and Ivan had tumbled beneath the water. She followed him down instead of saving herself. He pulled her close, and they shivered together in the dark.

The winds had died down and things were relatively quiet now. He felt very sleepy, and with her heart beating in time with his, he felt warm.

"I'll protect you," he muttered with child-like innocence. "Always."

Her blue eyes locked with his violet ones, and she smiled at him. It was wobbly at best and her lips quivered as she did so, but Ivan adored the sight of it.

She placed her head on his shoulder as they sat, heavily panting with exertion. His back hit the wall, but he did not mind. The worst was over.

"_Thank you,_" she said in her foreign language, and he smiled softly at her voice. It sounded soft now. Distant but close all at once.

He held her hand, as his eye lids grew much heavier than he ever remembered them being.

He only distantly heard the sound of someone shouting. The coldness was ebbing away and he felt pleasantly warm.

He did not hear the sounds of helicopter blades whirling overhead, nor the calls of his soul mate. He did not feel her shake him, desperately trying to wake him.

Nor did he feel the strong arms that lifted him up, minutes later.

OoOoOo

Ivan became aware to the sensation of still being warm. The sunlight streamed across his closed eyelids. He smiled gently. HIs hand squeezed, waiting to feel the weight of his soul mate's hand in his. Except nothing came.

His violet eyes widened in terror.

He noticed that what he thought was sunlight, was the florescent light of a hospital room. He swallowed, and his throat felt dry. The heavy weight of blankets threatened to suffocate him. He turned his sore neck, and noticed that the blonde girl was nowhere to be seen.

"Vanya!" Irunya gasped, and hurried ot his bedside.

His mother, who had been resting in the nearby chair, stood up quickly.

"My son, my baby, I am so sorry. Forgive me. Darling. I am so sorry. To have lost you in the chaos. Oh my baby! My darling boy." she said with tears in her eyes. Ivan basked in the affection of his mother as she peppered his hair with kisses. She laughed and sobbed in the same breath. "Thank God you are alright. _Thank God!"_

Her arms wrapped around him gently, but swiftly. Before she pulled back and whipped the tears from her eyes.

"Where is father?" He asked in a scratchy voice.

"Hush, young one," his mother said quickly with concern on her face. "You must not push yourself. You must rest. Your father has gone to speak with the doctor."

His violet eyes clouded slightly as his body felt... off. He felt slightly woozy, or as if he wasn't fully himself.

"Mother?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Where is she?" He asked in a small voice. He wanted to make sure his soul mate was alright.

"Who?" His mother asked, then made a small sound. "Natalia is sleeping in the other chair. Just over there." She motioned toward the unmoving head that peeked out of what he could see of the chair.

He frowned. His voice turned dismissive. He was glad his sisters and parents were safe. But... where was the girl.

"No," he denied with childish persistence, "the girl."

"What girl?" His mother asked, slightly perplexed as she smoothed his hair. "What girl darling?"

He licked his lips, but his tongue was dry. Ivan looked around, slightly lost.

"The girl..." he said with confusion. " The blonde girl. My girl."

"Your-?" His mother's soft eyes widened and she blinked. Her gaze traveled to his clock and she gasped. "You've zeroed out?"

Silence reigned in the already too quite space. Only the steady bips from the machines gave any relief.

"You are awake!" The booming voice of his father, startled everyone present.

Except for Natalia who continued to slumber.

His father was at his bedside in three long strides. He patted his son's head gently. However, Ivan noticed that his mother was openly crying.

"Oh. What cruel fate," she said softly as his father turned toward her.

"What? He is alive! We should-"

"No father," Irunya interjected with her eyes glistening with unshed sadness. "not that. Vanya... Vanya found his soul mate."

His father stilled. The violet eyes that his took after turned toward Ivan with surprise etched deeply into them.

"Is this true?"

"Yes," he agreed quickly. "Where is she?" He asked again, growing unhappy. He felt sore, and strange. His soul mate was gone. In another room, perhaps?

"When-?"

"During the storm," his mother supplied with a tone of morning to her words. Ivan did not understand why his mother was so upset. "He found her during that nightmare."

Ivan turned his head toward his mother. His violet eyes were uncomprehending.

He had protected the girl. He had been brave. He would tell her all about it later. Ivan watched as his father took his hand, and though it was familiar... it was not his soul mate's.

"Ivan, you must think hard. Tell me everything you remember."

Perspiration dotted his father's brow as Ivan fought to recall the details of his time in the cold and water. He told him of how he had become separated. Of the red-haired man that helped him. He spoke of the fire and the door which he had to break to save the girl. He finally told his father of the girl and how they had moved through the water to the safe place. How she had held his hand, and how she spoke strangely.

That was all Ivan remembered.

"We will find her," his father promised as his mother wept into her hands. "We will find her. I swear."

Ivan felt the worry subside. Yes, father would find the girl.

And then, they could finally play together for forever. Just like Irunya said.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Sorry, this gets... fluffy...Timer second chapter. **_

_**Thank you reviewers! :) **_

_**I own nothing. Yay for RusAme!**_

OoOoOo

Time was cruel.

Ivan had come to learn that. Between the lost records of the airport, the numerous injured that filled the hospitals, and his own inability to express all that he knew; his father had been unable to fulfill the promise to find 'her'.

That is what they called his soul mate. Wherever she was.

When he was younger, fixed firmly in his seven-year-old certainty, he had believed that it would just be a matter of days to maybe weeks to find her. However, he had been wrong. His father had pleaded with the hospital staff to tell the families of little blonde girls to check their 'timers'.

Swayed by the sincere pleading, and Ivan's own gloomy violet eyes, they had relented to carry on the message. Yet, sadly, none of the children in the hospital wing with Ivan had zeroed out. He had even went to each individual room, despite some harried looks from the nurses, just to be certain himself.

Somewhere in his mind, he likened it to a huge game of hide-and-go seek. He just had to find her again. Ivan had told himself that he had found her during the storm. So finding her again without the danger should be even easier.

It wasn't.

His mother had called other hospitals, all while Irunya tired to keep him distracted. He did not want to be distracted, at the time, he had wanted to find his playmate. Everyone was always so happy when they found theirs, Ivan had seen it before out in public, and there was always a lot of hugging with smiles.

He wanted hugs and someone to smile at him all the time as well. Someone closer to his own age that wasn't his sisters. He loved his sisters, but they were his _sisters._ So they didn't count.

The other hospitals were not as easily swayed. Even though his mother cried and yelled at different people on the phone. All where she thought Ivan could not see, nor hear.

"Please, have mercy," She said cajolingly on the phone, "my son is very young, and has zeroed out. If he loses track of his 'other' now, we will never-"

She paused, listening intently. Her darker eyes closing briefly.

"Yes, I understand that. However my-"

Ivan turned when Natalia pulled at his arm.

"Come play with me," she demanded with a stubborn look to her eyes. Ivan relented. He wanted to hear more, but if he ignored Natalia it would only make her angry. That and he did love his little sister. His violet eyes looked back at his mother with a hopeful sort of look.

He knew that they wouldn't lose his playmate.

However, he had spent days healing, still no word came from his father about the girl. He continued to ask, but every time he did his father's eyes would tighten and a look of sadness would enter the gazes of his relatives.

Ivan did not understand. Was his soul mate bad? Is that why father did not bring her? Had Ivan done something wrong? He thought very hard about the time in the water and cold. No, he could not think of anything he had done wrong.

About the time he was set to be discharged, Ivan stopped asking about the girl. His mother would cry at night, and Irunya kept holding tightly onto his hand. That only reminded him of the girl, but Irunya looked at him with pity. Ivan did not like that look. It made his stomach burn and his skin itch. Pity was for the weak and the young. He was a strong and big boy.

Natalia seemed happier than anyone else, and he played with her as she babbled about how she would be his special playmate. Ivan bore all of that with a smile, and gently tried to remind his little sister that she couldn't be 'her'. Natalia did not appreciate his reminder and would promptly burst into an angry tantrum. Ivan sighed heavily as he recalled that Natalia was only five, and still really young.

His father patted his head with an affectionate look of fondness in his eyes and led them to a different airport. His mother clung to Ivan and tightly, refusing to let him get even a foot away from her until they boarded the plane. He giggled at how silly his mother was, but obeyed none the less.

OoOoOo

As he had grown older, Ivan came to understand why it was that his mother had cried so much about his timer.

Years had passed, and they never found 'her'. Ivan's perfect match. His other half in every sense of the word. The violet eyed boy grew into a young man. He watched as others around him, the streets, shops, and even in school; put more importance and hopes on finding their 'others'. He had found his, but time had robbed him of really recalling who she was.

He remembered that she was blonde, and she had blue eyes. Yet, the shaped of her face, or any of the finer details about her were forgotten somewhere in the recesses of his mind. It was harder to recall the way she spoke. The others around him all found happiness or at least the subtle comfort of wondering.

Ivan did not even have that.

He did not need to wonder, he was the boy who was zeroed out. Several students whispered about it. Zeroed out, but he never spoke about his other. He wanted to, but the shame and embarrassment of having lost her made him grow angry.

He lashed out, and got into fights to shut the rude mouths of the other boys that jeered at him. He fell into violent habits for a while. Violence was his way of coping with the loneness that threatened to cripple him. What could he say? What could he do?

Father still searched as much as the family could afford. However, there was precious little information to go by. The girl had been five at the time. Blonde haired and blue eyed. Other than that, she spoke a different language that Ivan hadn't been able to name.

For a while he had spiraled into a circle of self-hate and loathing. He was some failure of some kind for circumstances that had been out of his control.

However, seeing his mother openly weep over his behavior, and the arguing with his sisters as well as his father had brought Ivan to a place of understanding. He was without his 'her' but he was still very loved.

By his late twenties, Ivan had settled on the fact that life was not always fair. Let alone kind. He kept himself busy with the hustle and bustle of work. He was the latest up and comer in his company. Ivan had an excellent head for business and his ability to be ruthless where it mattered had earned him quite the reputation.

Therefore, on his way through the crowded city square as he came back from coffee with his elder sister Irunya, he did not expect his whole life to change drastically. Irunya had met her other only last month, now in her thirties, she was filling Ivan in on the details of the wedding.

He smiled through it all, both happy for Irunya, and terribly saddened that he would never have such a joyous occasion. Irunya did not say it to be unkind, but to include Ivan. He'd spent several years changing from the wild thing he had been in his pubescence.

He took a deep breath, enjoying the warming air as this region of Russia entered its spring season. The air was still crisp and cool, but the sun gave the scenery a sense of renewed life. He gazed at the people walking around him, as he wondered what was next on his schedule when he returned to the office.

Violet eyes unknowingly landed on a group of people, more condensed than the others.

_Ting. Ding. Ting. Ding. Ta-ding. Ta-ding._

It was so loud. It almost sounded as if...

Ivan blinked, his heart raced in his chest. His eyes widened and he moved his arm, lifting his sleeve, to stare at his timer. The zeros he'd spent several years glaring at with bitter distaste blinked at him, once more circling around themselves while it trembled. It shook, because he did. His whole body felt as if it was awakening after a very long period of rest. His ears strained to hear over the thundering of his blood as it pounded in time with his racing heart.

The tall man flicked his gaze up, and he searched the crowded area in front of him. His mouth felt dry, and an indescribable wave of _hope_ crashed over him. Was it even possible? Had his lonely prayers been answered? Did anyone ever find their 'one' twice?

_Ping. Ting. Ping. Ting. Da-dum. Da-dum. _

The sweet melody of the jingle he had come to hate over the long and heartbreaking years called to him. When he had watched through jealous eyes as two people connected in a way that he never thought he would find again. Ivan took a breath as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest with disbelief. Of the milling people in the crowded square, only one stilled.

_Her._

His mind clamored a thousand thoughts and went blank all in the space of a single second.

A woman stood, looking down at her wrist in confusion. Blonde hair glinted in the spring daylight. A slightly rosy complexion was on her cheeks, as if she was unaccustomed to being out in the Russian weather. Ivan noted her glasses, and the lock of hair that stuck up a little bit. A vague echoing of a memory flashed across his mind's eye.

_'Mama! Help!' A young girl screamed. Her blonde hair was drenched and her face was red with panic. Ivan was frightened. _

She looked up, and Ivan was captivated. Blue eyes, the ones that haunted his dreams for years, caught and held Violet. An expression of mirrored shock on her face. She had glasses now, he noticed, but her eyes were the same.

It was as if a spell were woven over the pair and they stared at each other, unmoving. Then a heart-melting smile blossomed on her lips and Ivan felt his own reciprocate.

"_Hey_!" She called out loudly, in English.

His lips quirked higher. English. That funny language she'd spoken so long ago. Now he knew what it really was. Her voice carried loudly across the space that separated them. Several heads swiveled at the loud call. Ivan noticed that she was nearly bounding on the balls of her feet. She laughed.

If he hadn't been half-in love with her already, the sound of her joyous laughter would have made him so.

"_It's you_!" She continued happily. Ivan did not understand the words, but she dropped something on the ground. He blinked, and watched with barely repressed delight as she was running toward him.

It was instinct that had him opening his arms, as his soul mate nearly body checked a large man out of the way. Within seconds, she was throwing herself at him. He caught her easily and she was laughing happily.

Ivan dimly registered people clapping around them. Camera flashes and some cheering. He glanced around quickly, noticing that the women in the crowd were the most enthusiastic.

"I found you," he said, in Russian, scarcely able to believe that he met her twice. He had not known such things were even possible.

Part of him worried over the possibility of imminent disaster. He squashed that unsure feeling down. Russia was not known for having hurricanes this far in land. Right? Violet eyes scanned the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

That was good.

"_Oh my God. I never thought I'd find ya again!"_ She said with tears shining in her eyes as she pulled back to look at him. "_I couldn't even remember you. Except that I really liked purple after that whole disaster in Sweden."_ she chatted happily.

Ivan stared at her blankly. A nervous smile slowly wormed its way onto his face.

She blinked. Then blushed. "_Sorry. I kinda get excited sometimes. You know, like now. Anyway," _she placed a hand on her chest. "_I'm Amelia."_

Amelia? That was her name? It sounded lovely. Like the rest of her. And, he could overlook the fact that she was obviously American.

The loudness and talking gave that fact away.

In fact, it didn't really matter. Amelia was his 'other'.

"I will not lose you again," he said with decisiveness. "I have waited a lifetime to find you."

"_Babe,"_ she said, laughing softly while blushing, "_I have no idea what you said. But that's okay_."

And, then she was holding his hand. Though he was loathe to release her from the safety of his arms. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him.

"_'Cause it's you and me against the world, got that big guy_?" Her blue eyes sparkled from behind her glasses. Her heart shaped face seemed to glow with happiness. His heart echoed her sentiment exactly.

He did not comprehend the words, but the meaning was there. Hand in hand, he pulled her close. She grinned at him. She squeezed his hand reflexively. Excitement visible on her features. A gentle understanding and commitment shone in her eyes.

"_So... am I learning Russian, or are you learning English?"_

Ivan leaned down and kissed her. Whatever she was saying was forgotten as she released his hand and twined her arms around the back of his neck. She fit against him perfectly.

The pain. The sorrow. The loneliness. Every negative emotion he'd fought against for all these years melted away as she pressed against him.

Finally, he felt whole.

"_Ms. Jones_!" Someone shouted, and Amelia pulled away from him. Her hands unwound from his neck, and dropped to her sides. Ivan was displeased by the intrusion. A blonde man came running up to them. "_Ms. Jones!"_ He huffed after he stopped.

Violet eyes narrowed on the intruder. He'd just found Amelia again. His whole life was changed this day, as it had been so long ago.

She turned, a confused look on her face, as if she hadn't expected anyone to call out to her. The fingers of her left hand, twined with his right.

"_Yeah?"_ She started chuckling. "_Sorry dude."_

_"Ms. Jones, you can't leave the group,"_ the unknown man panted as he caught his breath. "_you could get lost."_

_"Oh... yeah." _She said with embarrassment as she shuffled from one foot to the next. "_But there was a really good reason."_

_"Ms. Jones," _ the man said with a bit of exasperation. "_You've said that every time you've wandered off."_

_"Well, yeah, but it was true and this is even more important than those."_

Ivan was irritated at not being able to understand what the pair was saying.

"_Come on dude,"_ Amelia wheedled with a gentle expression that bordered on pleading. "_He's my other. Can't you understand?"_

The tour guide looked at her, and then at Ivan.

"I am sorry sir," The man said in accented Russian, it was a very decent attempt. Ivan felt some of his ire fade. "We must be going. If you would please let go of this woman, we must get back to the group. "

"Group?" He asked with his eyebrows drawing together as he frowned. Amelia was not going anywhere.

"A tour Sir. For international travelers. We are due to meet at the Plaza hotel by three. She could provide you her information and you could meet at the hotel?"

Ivan had several important meetings to attend, but he did not even give a second thought to missing them.

"No, I will go with you now." He said with finality.

His violet eyes saw Amelia smile widely as his message was relayed by the tour guide.

"_This sounds really corny,"_ She said to him while laughing, "_but that is the most romantic thing I've ever heard of."_ Amelia looked at the group of travelers coming toward them. Some with curiosity practically written on their faces.

_"Hey! I found him!"_ She said loudly, and very happily. Amelia started tugging him toward the group. "_Can you freaking believe it?!"_

Ivan smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

_**I feel like I should apologize, I have no idea where this came from. Don't hate me!**_

_**Rated M. I do not own hetalia. Inspired by a youtube video I saw called 'Dirty Picture'.**_

OoOoOo

She thought she might be ready to die from sheer boredom.

Mostly because England was talking to her...well, talking _at_ her.

"And," England continued into his one hour lecture, which America had tuned out fifty nine minutes ago, "don't forget to send Russia your DIRTY picture."

Oh! Woah! Wait a minute now. She heard that part.

America turned her blue eyes, which were wide behind Texas, toward England. Her focus absolute as she searched his face for a hint of a trick or a joke. Or... something! But he looked perfectly serious.

Hold the phone.

"Wait," she said slowly as she continued to gaze at him with wide-eyed horror. "What?"

England sighed, his brows furrowing together -which did him no justice but she would poke fun at that later-, as he glared at her. Yikes! Okay, he knew she hadn't entirely been paying attention again.

"Your DIRTY picture. You have to give it to Russia."

"My _what?"_ She half-shouted, which given her normal speaking voice was just shy of deafening. "To _who?"_

England, however, was entirely used to her antics and his features morphed into displeasure.

"Whom," the island nation corrected sourly, "and for the last time your DIRTY picture, which by the way you are very late in doing. It was supposed to be in by last month. So I expect you not to argue with me, America. And, you_ are_ to send it to Russia _straight away_."

Her jaw actually dropped and America could only blink at him. Her brain, mightily impressive as it was, was practically trying to beat itself against her skull to keep from fully comprehending this atrocity.

Russia? She had to send a dirty picture to _Russia?_ What sort of nonsense was this?

England sighed. He stared at her pointedly.

"You do remember the last meeting, don't you?"

She pondered that. She showed up, _like a boss_. There had been some pastries, because she was starving that early in the morning. America had spoken with South Korea and gotten yelled at by a few nations. More than a few nations, actually. Then she tried to hang out with Ukraine, which had ticked Russia off...

So...

Business as usual really.

"Yeah, dude. Totally," she replied confidently with a beaming smile. Her earlier horror nearly instantly forgotten in the wake of remembering her own epic-ness.

"You don't." England snapped, clearly annoyed by her short attention span. Then again, he supposed he should count her lucky stars that she had made it this long.

"I do!" America protested with a frown.

"No," the older said with a slight feeling of contempt to his words, "you do not. Because if you did, you would recall that the world agree to put Russia in charge of the DIRTY proceedings. This includes any and all pictures."

The female nation tilted her head. They... they had someone _in charge_ of that? Really?

"Really?"

"Yes," England said with his exasperation growing.

She eyed him speculatively. Her blue eyes narrowing slightly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Really sure?

"Yes, America,"

"Super, duper, absolutely, 100 %-"

"Yes, I am bloody sure you twit!" He shouted, unable to contain himself any longer.

Ah... he was serious then.

America watched his forehead throb in child-like fascination. There was no way that could be healthy, but the colors he turned were simply awe inspiring.

How the hell did he do that?

She blinked at him, as she shrugged. Her gaze still locked on his forehead.

"Alright, England," She agreed with some misgivings, "if you say so...and you are sure everyone else sent one to Russia already?"

The Island nation looked as if he were about to explode.

Epic.

America giggled internally as his green eyes darkened in a hostile manner. Man, riling England up was hysterical.

"Everyone!" He snapped out again.

Well... if everyone else had done it, then she supposed she had to do it to. After all, she had agreed.

At... some point.

Eh, it would be fine.

OoOoOo

His phone chirped at him happily.

Russia glanced at it dispassionately with his violet orbs showing just how tired he was. It was close to two in the morning, and he still had to finish the reports on the DIRTY project. Not the most inspiring of acronyms, he granted. However, it had to be done and quickly to keep international goodwill at an all time high. He tapped the screen and swiped the code in.

His eyebrow rose, of its own accord, when he noticed the message was from Amerika. He nearly snorted in irritation. What did that nation want now? Was she not satisfied with creating chaos on her own time? Now she had to interfere with his early mornings.

Hm. It had an attachment.

The large nation sighed heavily, and noticed that title was a little strange.

_Russia. Hey dude. I meant to send this like a month ago. Take care! USA all the way! _

Did he even want to know? Maybe, a little. If for no other reason than to mock her for it later. Which was always entertaining. Even during their conflicts.

His curiosity grew and he waited patently for the image to load. He glanced away, looking back at his reports for a few moments. He skimmed the latest reports from Norway and Denmark on their progress.

When he looked back at the phone, he nearly stopped breathing.

What... was... this?

The view was from above. America was stretched out on a bed of some sort, the red background looked like silk from the slight sheen on them. She was covered with a white and blue sheet. And, by covered, he meant that he could almost make out the most intimate parts of the nation that made it her mission to make him furious. Or fight him over everything.

If fighting her had involved this, Russia would have gladly gone to war with her a few more times.

He noticed that she had a very sensual look in her blue eyes. Texas, the part that had hooked over the back of America's ears, was being lightly touched by a pink tongue.

Russia swallowed, feeling the heavy heat of arousal stir in his loins. His pants felt overly tight and uncomfortable.

His violet eyes focused on the stars painted on her body. White stars, nearly pristine and glowing on her skin. It took no effort to imagine that there were fifty of them.

It looked like her wildness was fully captured in the single moment. The unpredictable but vivacious nature that left him guessing what she was up to at every meeting, was all there in her pose.

There was something so erotic about her face and the image she presented that he continued to stare at the picture in disbelief. A look of lust entered his eyes, and his work was quickly forgotten. Perhaps... Amerika was not all _that_ irritating?

A soft blush stole over his features, and Russia grinned.

OoOoOo

America had no idea what she had done wrong.

"Dammit America!" England chastised her again. "You still haven't sent your DIRTY picture."

She blinked at the island nation, surprised.

"Bu...But I did," she argued back, suddenly embarrassed about having to remember taking the freaking thing. Did England have to shout so much? Why couldn't he talk with his indoor voice, like normal nations?

Geez.

America blushed, still shocked at how her picture had turned out. It was nice. She looked hot, if she did say so herself. And, the photographer was one of the best in the business. As well as discreet. America had even confirmed with her boss, that yes, she did have to send in her dirty picture. However, the president hadn't been able to give her much of an idea of what she should do, he was way too busy.

So, she hired a photographer. Though, she had to say...

Russia and the rest of the world were a bunch of_ pervs_. Though, she admitted she was quite curious over how some of the other nations' had turned out.

She was betting France was nude and Japan's somehow had something to do with a sword. Which was sort of hot, and sort of strange. Prussia's likely had leather in there somewhere. She had... just a little bit... wanted to see Prussia's.

Purely in the interest of comparison, of course.

"No you did not," England growled as he waved his hands around. "I just spoke with the team heading up-"

"Stop picking on Amerika, da?" Russia's happy tone carried over the pair, and the two nations stilled.

Russia was... defending America?

The female nation blinked and looked up at the smiling face of the Slavic nation. She was, understandably, unnerved by him not giving her the _'I hope you die'_ smile. Which she had named it. Patent pending.

She mutely watched as Russia nodded to England happily, before dragging his chair next to America. Right next to her.

The blue-eyed nation stared at the three inches of space he'd left for her without his body swallowing up the rest.

England glared at him heatedly.

"I was talking with America," the island nation pointed out crossly.

"And, now you are done? Da? Good." Russia said with a slight bit of authority creeping into his tone.

America's eyes widened behind Texas as Russia leaned in closer to her.

"How is the weather at your home?" He asked with a wide grin on his face.

She glanced at England, with a look that frankly expressed 'What the fuck is this?'. England looked as flabbergasted as she felt. America furrowed her brow as her eyes shifted back to Russia as she cleared her throat.

"Fine." She said nearly quietly. "Blue skies and all. Some rain, but not much."

"Blue you say?" Russia asked with his eyes glinting strangely.

"Uh... yeah..." America trailed off.

Russia smiled widely again, and began chatting to her about the weather at his home. He expressed a great interest in taking a trip to visit her, and Russia ignored the questioning looks from other nations.

Including Ukraine, whom he had fought over America with just the month before.

The star-spangled nation couldn't help but wonder why Russia was being so nice all of a sudden. Not that it was unwelcomed, but it was unexpected. However, it was nice to have the larger nation on her side for once, instead of at her throat.

OoOoOo

Northern Italy giggled absently, which caught his brothers attention.

Which caught Spain's attention, because Southern Italy was ignoring him.

That in turn, caught France's attention, because he was talking to Spain.

The four sets of eyes noticed that Russia was practically touching America and she looked rather confused by his actions. Yet, the furniture remained unscathed, so everyone was breathing a sigh of relief. For the time being.

Spain's interest was piqued. "Is... Russia... flirting with America?" He asked with green-eyes the size of saucers.

"Non...non... that cannot..." France trailed off as he squinted at the pair.

He said a prayer to the lord above, because it did look for all the world as if... Russia was trying to seduce America. The Slavic nation had started touching her shoulder lightly, as if he were testing the waters.

America looked a little skittish about the whole ordeal, but she laughed as something he said. Her blue eyes were looking at all the other nations, not yet to the point of looking for help.

"Isn't it wonderful?" Northern Italy said in a sing-song voice, with a smile on his lips.

His brother gave a snort of irritation.

"Stupid bastard," Southern Italy groused out. "He clearly thinks he's going to get something."

Something?

_Ah._

France paused, his eyes widening slightly. The proverbial wheels started spinning in his head and suddenly he was laughing with a large amount of amusement shining in his face.

"_Oui_, that would explain why he is acting so... _nice_." The male nation leered openly.

"What the blazes are you prattling on about?" England demanded as he stomped over to the others angrily.

"How Russia is going to try and woo America for her favors." Northern Italy said with an impish smile.

A secretive smile that Southern Italy was keenly aware spelled trouble for Germany, which he did not care about. He hated that potato bastard.

"Oh sod off," England argued. "There is no way in all the seven seas that Russia would think America would..."

"If he doesn't, he's sure as hell doing a fantastic acting job," Southern Italy interrupted rudely.

The older nations snickered.

"What did you tell America?" France asked, as he slapped England on the back roughly. If anyone knew why Russia was suddenly acting friendly toward America, it would be England. Also, given the timeline, it did not take much to understand that this was all starting after the last meeting, where England had been scolding his former colony.

The green eyed nation hissed like an angry cat at France touching him.

"What?"

"What. Did. You. Tell. America," The more flamboyant nation stressed, "at the last meeting?"

"Get your hands off of me, and I told her to give Russia her DIRTY picture."

Southern Italy rolled his eyes with an annoyed look on his features. France was nearly clapping as imaginary roses blossomed in his mind. Ah, this was going to either be utterly adorable...

Or kill them all.

Yet, as a nation that was inclined to experience passion and love -much like Southern Italy- France was willing to see this out. He laughed again.

"Then, we will see just how nice Russia can be when he thinks there is a prize coming his way." Spain jested, starting to guffaw at the very idea of Russia seducing America. If she was even aware of what was going on.

Russia had moved on to stroking the back of her hand, and the female nation was staring at the Russia as if he had three heads.

... It would take time, Spain thought.

"I fail to see," England replied acerbically, "just what is so amusing about America's progress on the Development of International Research for Teleomorphs and Yeasts. The Svalbard Global Seed Vault will be expecting the indigenous samples that Russia has organized."

All of what he said was very true. It was essential to round out the seed vault with more than just the plants that were helpful, medicinal, or edible. They would need the decomposers of the food chains to help sustain life again, should such an event come to pass.

France and Southern Italy exchanged a look. Northern Italy was preoccupied with plying Germany for more favors.

England soon turned to trying to strangle Spain. Who could not stop laughing.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A reviewer wanted to see a Kingdom AU of Russia and America. I saw what you requested. I feel like I should apologize, I have no idea where this came from. Don't hate me!**_

_**Rated M. I do not own hetalia. This is a Two-Parter. **_

OoOoOo

It was not a fairy tail meeting, by any stretch of the imagination. Nor was it a love story for many a year.

The Prince of the North Kingdom was to be Betrothed to a Princess of the West Kingdom, and he was a person that took such matters with a very serious demeanor. After all, this would be his future Queen, and as the Future King of the North Kingdom, he deserved only the _best_. There would be not simpering female that he could not tolerate the voice of, nor some molted sow of a girl that he would be forced to climb on top of to produce an heir at some point.

Though such things would wait until he was of a proper age, and she of course as well.

The war between the Kingdoms had been long and hard. So naturally, to allow their Kingdoms time to heal, a truce had been struck. Now, he was to marry a West Princess. The North Prince understood the political motivations behind such a union. He had also been raised from birth to do his duty above all else. And, should she be truly repugnant, even as the best of the lot, there would be women a-plenty to share his bed should he wish it.

And, depending upon which sister he would be saddled with, he might.

Violet eyes glanced out the carriage window, his thoughts roaming over the prosperity of the Kingdom. It was large. Nearly as large as his own, but possessing more people. The fields appeared fertile from what he could see growing rather well in the distance.

Excellent, he would not be shackled to some squalor of a Kingdom through treaty. That at least made this a touch more appealing.

The first pattering of rain began, and the Prince sighed quietly as the clouds turned a darker gray. The weather in the West Kingdom was often unpredictable. He had been informed by his advisors, it would be a boon if the people were not as quick to change as their skies.

OoOoOo

The welcome to the West Court was a lavish and decadent affair. The Prince had hardly set foot into the hall before he was offered an array of sweet or strong drink, and a near bounty of succulent foods.

His violet eyes gazed on with disinterest. The King, a man hardly older than the Prince, stared at him with calculating eyes. They sized each other up, violet clashed heatedly with green. The King had unfortunately thick brows, the Prince continued to gaze at the older male without betraying a single thought he was thinking. The King and he watched each other for a time. They did the courtly dance of cloak and dagger words. Honeyed whispers that were only a breath away from the tip of a sword to the throat. Promises upheld with serve wrath.

Such things came easily to the Prince, and even though he did not try, he was menacing in his seriousness.

The Queen of the North Kingdom, a woman of ruthless ambition and few graces, allowed the words to pass by her without much caring for the whole ordeal. Though this was merely a mask to hide her inner thoughts. Something her royal son was well aware of, having grown from infancy to hide every emotion that did not accomplish a given task. The prince could tell by the way her eyes narrowed at the King's words more than once, that his mother did not think highly of this union.

However, the King's will reigned supreme... even over her own. The Prince could hardly be bothered to care over much. Should his bride prove overly displeasing, he would lock her away in some given area of the castle where he would not be forced to deal with her.

Yes, that suited him well enough.

Terms were discussed, a dowry was offered, and finally wax was melted for the pressing of seals. Two shields, the crests of the highest ranking nobility were embedded in the crimson wax, lending a sense of somberness to the males in the room. No happiness was found in the Queen, for she did not believe the Western Kingdom possessed anything but brutes.

The time had finally come to choose a bride. Amongst the various kingdoms, it had been lamented that the late Western King had only been blessed with one heir. Yet three daughters followed the only sovereign son. The Prince found such a thing highly amusing, as the West King had perished on the battle field, and his son -the current reigning ruler- called for peace.

Peace with the Kingdom that slaughtered his sire. It occurred to the Prince, that perhaps, the two were not overly close. Then again, he might celebrate the death of his own father. However, business matters took precedence.

The marriage contract could not move forward until he had made his selection. Such as was the way of breeding horses, the lines of royalty were not wholly dissimilar. He amused himself with the thought of checking their teeth first. Which, might not actually be out of the question. Also he would need to see if they had the fledgling hips to bare proper offspring. It had also been part of his acceptance of peace with the West Kingdom to not be married off to the oldest Princess, something was normally traditional.

He might have been forced to take a bride, but he would be damned before he took some bit of goods he had never seen.

The busy-browed King raised a hand, and made a motion for the Northern Royals to follow. Such an act was meant to goad the Prince, but the effect fell flat. He was unimpressed by the other male. The Prince was secure in his ability to crush him, should he so wish.

However, this was for peace and his people required him to fulfill his role.

The West Kingdom had not been full of weak-willed brutes, but men that were as dangerous as they were slightly crazed. So it had behooved his father to agree to the offered olive branch between them.

The Prince gazed at the intricate archways, and how spacious the areas he passed appeared to be. More spacious than functional. It seemed as if the whole of the West Kingdom was dedicated to being large and grand.

The opulence even spilled toward the grounds.

They were lead out into a lush garden, filled to the brim with all manner of flowers and shrubs. Violet eyes glanced over it, secretly enjoying the view, as they moved toward a covered area that boasted many roughly hewed stones. Monsters and beasts of various kinds were carved from different colored stones, likely to keep the birds from becoming pests. Amongst the flowers, nestled akin to precious gems, were two young girls. Each in a different colored, but equally elaborate, dress.

They noticed their King, and his company nearly instantly.

The first princess was quiet, but lovely. Eyes, nearly the same shade as his own, and glanced away shyly as she blushed with a maidenly hue of rosy sweetness. The Prince stared at the girl, younger than he by a few years, from the look of her. Her golden hair was curled slightly, and she looked almost like a portrait that hung in his castle above the hearth. Her hips looked to be of a decent size, for her age.

A very decent prospect, the Prince conceded.

They bowed formally, and he noticed that the King puffed out his chest a bit with pride. Why he was proud over them managing not to embarrass themselves upon first glance, confused the Prince slightly. Though he showed none of his thoughts outwardly.

Her silence was pleasing. At least, she was not one to talk over-much. Well, he could always solve that problem with strong drink if it came to it. So speech was not of much of a concern. Though it was considered unseemly for a woman to speak out.

However, the princess tried to look over her shoulder, as if she were searching for someone. Where there not three sisters? Or was that an uniformed rumor?

Gentle steps followed, and soon he caught sight of the dark-haired little girl that moved with confident grace as she came forward. Her features were much closer to the King's. How unfortunate for her. Her eyes were a lovely shade of green. The prince made no outward reaction as he appraised what appeared to be the youngest princess. She was smaller than even the golden-haired one.

She too, he thought, would make a decent bride. It did not appear as if inbreeding were as much of a problem as he would have been led to believe, in the West Kingdom. It was an unexpected, but welcomed, surprise.

"Where is-?" The King began with furrowed brows. An act which did nothing to improve his visage.

As if he had summoned a reaction, by will alone, a loud but angry screech was heard. The Queen turned, her eyes narrowed shrewdly.

There came the distinct sounds of conflict from not far away. Yipping, and the sounds of a feminine voice chastising as an animal bayed. The Prince turned violet eyes to see a richly dressed young girl, not overly far off, who resembled the golden-haired princess, running as best as she was able with a fluffy creature in her arms. A hound was giving chase, and jumping about her as she tried to fend it off. The fluffy creature in her arms squirmed.

The Prince tilted his head to get a better look.

Was that... a rabbit?

The girl bared her teeth in a very un-lady like fashion at the hound that was growling. It nipped at her dress, and she continued to scold it.

"Enough!" She snapped out, her chin jutted out defiantly. It appeared as if the dog was of a hunting breed, and it wanted the rabbit in the girl's arm. The Prince felt a strange sense of perverse amusement as she failed to keep the dog from slobbering all over her. It released her gown, only to truly attempt to take hold of the fabric.

The hound latched on, sharp teeth going through the fabric with ease, and the large but damming sound of cloth tearing rent the air.

"Stop at once!" The girl declared in a volume that could only be aptly described as a bellow, her voice was tinged with outrage.

It caught the attention of the Young King, who placed a gloved hand over the lower half of his face. The Northern Queen looked appalled beyond words. Both watched in silence as the Princess continued to shout, the girl gave a good whack to the top of the hound's snout. It released her with a whine, but unfortunately, the girl lost her balance and tumbled down.

Into a well-trodden area that was obviously rather wet. Due to the rain he had seen upon entering the Kingdom. There was a sound, akin to something being pressed firmly into a sticky dough.

For the girl became covered from head to toe, in mud.

Violet eyes widened as the girl let out a string of curses, in perfectly articulated English. The Prince felt his lips twitch. He cleared his throat, feeling his chest contract and expand quickly.

The girl stilled, and the rabbit -completely unharmed in the scuffle- darted away. She whipped her head around, and glanced at the apparent strangers with unease on her features. The young girl... actually possessed the gall to frown at the Northern Queen? The Prince felt his lips twitch.

Defiant sky-blue eyes glared at him briefly, as if it was the Prince's fault that the ordeal had occurred.

The strange urge that appeared, grew even stronger at her misplaced irritation. The girl quickly moved to rise, the mud sloughing off of her. She tried to brush some of it off of her face, but it only left finger marks in the thick mud. The Prince's lips twitched even more. He started at the young girl, whose hair -what parts were not tinted brown with muck- was a slightly darker shade of gold.

He appraised her thoughtfully, despite her disheveled and inappropriate appearance, was slightly taller than the older sister he had seen. Was she the oldest perhaps? Or she could have been the middle Princess for all he knew. However, she had -in an unorthodox manner- caught his attention.

Her blue eyes flicked to the Queen, and she moved forward quickly. They watched her as she covered the yards of distance with her back straight and a look of serene dignity on her features. The best she could manage given the circumstances. She stopped before them, and the Prince saw her hands fist slightly at her sides. The girl moved to curtsey.

"Your Highness," the girl said quite simply and did not elaborate further. She offered no apology, nor did she make an excuse. The Prince hardly blamed her. There was little to be said.

"Good Heavens child! This is what passes for a Princess in the West Kingdom? Playing with hounds and game animals? You expect my son to entertain the thought of marriage with... this... this... This is an outrage!" The Queen gasped, her gloved hand flew to her lips to stifle any sound that was not directly related to her fury.

The young princess looked up, as a dark glob of mud landed with a wet 'plop' on the previously unmarred grass. She swallowed quickly, her blue eyes were wide with concern and fear. She flicked her gaze to her Brother, the King, with mounting dismay. The King was frowning at her heavily, his displeasure radiating off of him in waves. However, the King merely nodded to her show of what she attempted to pass off as manners. She bowed her head again, wincing as more mud mounted on the grass.

"Please permit me to convey my sincerest apologies," the girl said, glancing briefly a the King once more.

The Queen looked incised by the very idea. The Prince understood very well just how out of place the girl looked dripping with wet earth and guileless blue eyes.

"Your Highness," The King started, voice full of imposing authority and only a touch of embarrassment. "Allow me the distinct pleasure of introducing you to my sisters. The Royal Princessess-"

Whatever courtly address he would have given, was lost to the sounds of laughter.

Rather loud... laughter.

The Queen turned, her golden crown gleamed in the afternoon sun, and even the King was struck into silence. The Princess blinked and raised her head to stare at the young Prince. The boy whose stern expression and aloof gaze had not shifted in the hours of contractual readings or proposals. The one who was so still that often he was accused of having no heart at all.

Her own son.

The Prince of the Northern Kingdom...was _laughing._

Even his mother found the event mildly disturbing, for he had always been a serious child. One that took quickly to the ruthless intrigues of the court. She arched a brow, uncertain of how to continue or even if she should. This whole ordeal was strange.

"I approve," The Prince said with a thick accent, but perfect English. The first words he had spoken past the mandated pleasantries, and even the young King paid renewed attention to the future ruler. He raised an imperious hand to point lazily at the mud-slicked Princess, whose fine clothes were soiled beyond repair. And, whose hair had started to cake with the mud that was drying upon it. "Of _that_ one."

Every pair of eyes widened.

The Queen looked positively ill. "My darling," she said in an authoritative tone, "are you certain that she is the wisest choice? The other-"

"I have made up my mind." The Prince replied nearly in a bored tone. He had decided and so it would be.

The King gave the Prince a baleful glance, and for a moment it almost looked as if he were grinding his teeth.

"Yes, Amelia would make a most wondrous addition to the North Kingdom." The West King commented.

The words were said with a tone that was caustic and biting. The Prince knew instantly that it was aimed at him, and not the King's sister.

Oh, _excellent_, this princess was loved by her brother or at the very least protected. It would make the agreement that much stronger. Though he did pause to wonder if every sister would have solicited the same reaction as selecting this one.

It hardly mattered now.

With his words, the Princess understood nearly instantly what had occurred. She had been chosen by the Northern Prince for Marriage. The King had explained in great detail why this union was so important. They all had witnessed how war had ravaged the Kingdom, and more importantly the lives therein.

In all sincerity, the Princess did not look overly thrilled by the announcement.

Blue eyes met violet. The Prince gave a wide grin, and the Princess swallowed heavily. She glanced back to her sisters with confused expression. It was met by equal expressions of disbelief.

"I am..." The Princess started, searching for the correct words. "Honored... your Highness."

The Prince felt his lips twitch once more. Any other Princess might have at least bothered to hide her look of dismay, but not this one. Somehow, it felt fitting.

King Arthur was thoroughly displeased. Of all his sisters, Prince Ivan had to choose Amelia.

Truly?

OoOoOo

The Priest blessed their impending union, which would take place upon Amelia's sixteenth birth year. Vows were sworn under the most holy of places and circumstances. The eyes of the courts and the eyes of God upon them as they repeated words not their own. It bound them to duty, obligation, and tradition.

It was a large affair, their betrothal.

Lords and Ladies from both Kingdoms had come to dance and make merry. It was as if a spell of strife and hate had been lifted over the land. The people moved together with smiles on both sides. They nearly radiated with relief at the impending union. The Kings of the Lands had been able to put aside their differences and now the bond between them would be strengthen politically through this union.

Even Ivan's father was content with the matter. Everything was well. All were looking forward to the day when their two kingdoms would truly be connected.

All except The Prince and Princess that were expected to wed.

Mostly due to the fact that Princess Amelia insisted that she was horridly ill with some malady. Going as far as to stain her skin in certain spots with walnut oil and try to claim she had the plague. To which, it had been proven she did not, after two royal doctors could barely suppress their exasperation at her ridiculous claim. Her brother, King Arthur, was forced to drag her to the festivities literally kicking and screaming. The darkened spots on her skin reminded Ivan of a fawn from the forest.

He waved at her with near glee radiating from his eyes. Princess Amelia looked murderous as she refused to acknowledge him unless her brother prompted her to respond.

Both royal courts pretended as if nothing had happened. The oldest princess, for he had learned Amelia was the second daughter, had held an iron-grip on her sibling as she whispered something in order for the intended bride to stop making a spectacle of herself.

Ivan found it all rather hysterical. He did not worry any longer that he would be bored to tears by marriage. After the speech to the people, spewing lies of hope and a rich future, they sat down to an enormous amount of food. Ivan and Amelia were seated side by side to be honored for their union. Which would not take place until Amelia was a more acceptable, and of child-bearing, age. He spent a good deal of the meal, as food and drink was plentiful upon numerous platters, laughing at her expense. His violet eyes lingered on her spots.

"Have you no where better to look, My Lord?" She asked, with feigned interest to hide her irritation.

"Ah, but I should look at my bride, should I not?"

"I am not yet your bride," she reminded him swiftly, with narrowed eyes. Though a soft blush had appeared on her cheeks.

"But you are my betrothed and that is as good as a bride. Nearly the same, many would argue."

Blue eyes clashed with violet.

"We shall see, My lord." The Princess did not give a true reply, but deflected her opinion on the matter.

He smiled, and watched as her eyes grew wide with alarm. It would seem that he did not put her at ease in the slightest.

Ah, well, he had tried.

"It would be best for both our Kingdoms, if we were to get along. Look at the people. See how they laugh? This is a blessing! We will have many years of marriage to look forward to. You will bear heirs to my line and my kingdom." The Prince said, as he grabbed his wine goblet and drank lightly.

The Princess fidgeted in her seat, her youthful features twisted with concern and thought.

"I do know that we will have years of marriage. A lifetime, my lord. So, yes, you are correct we should attempt for the good of both Kingdoms to get along amicably."

"Yes, of course," he agreed readily. "And I will make certain not to allow you near any mud after the wedding. Though, perhaps, it would be an improvement over your lovely... markings?" Ivan gestured to her 'spots' as he began to chuckle to himself.

To which, the young Princess took exception and decided to kick him under the table.

Several times.

Yet, with each firm kick of her slipper, Prince Ivan only laughed harder. His mother, the Queen, watched him in quiet fascination as the Princess scowled at him all through the remainder of the meal. Words were exchanged, though the Queen could not hear them from her place at her husband's side. However, the Princess had stopped howling like a beast at the sky or weeping over her misfortune. Both of which were unseemly to the Queen of the Northern Kingdom. She would have to her future daughter-in-law under her wing and teach her how to correctly behave as an imperial lady.

By the end of the night, there had even been one smile shared between the pair. As Prince Ivan pointed to a pair of dancers, something whispered had the young Princess trying to hide her amusement behind her hand. A warm feeling stirred within the Queen, seeing her only son so well pleased by the barbarian-like west Princess. She turned her gaze back toward her King as he spoke lowly to the ruler of the West Kingdom.

They retired for the night, as starts danced in a cloudless sky above. The Prince and Princess bowed to each other.

He parted from her, after gifting her a broach made with the symbol of his family crest. The Royal crest of the North Kingdom, no small token. She accepted it with all the grace and manners expected for her age.

OoOoOo

His father died in the middle of the night, after a long struggle with an illness that swept through his Kingdom.

He, his sister, and the Queen had been taken away to another estate, where the contagion could not reach them. He helped his mother speak with the members of the royal court and guide them through the trying time. The treaty between the West and North was called upon for the first time, requesting medicine, holy healers, and further aid. His people were hit hardest, many becoming ill, and quite a few passed.

The very first correspondence he had ever received from his betrothed arrived while he was tallying up the tolls for the dead. Ivan hoped to prevent further spreading of the contagion and minimize the number of deaths. The vellum had felt strange in his hands, and he had noted the slightly perfumed scent with amusement. The wax seal was broken with ease, and his eyes nearly devoured her words with a sense of desperate need for some sort of distraction.

Princess Amelia expressed her concern for his welfare in flowing script. Bits of wax tumbled to his desk, but the Prince paid them no heed. In her letter, his betrothed mentioned that King Arthur was gathering the requested supplies and that they would be made available to the Northern Kingdom in short order. It was news that filled him with a renewed sense of purpose.

The rest of her letter was filled with light-hearted goings on in her kingdom, and hope for his continued safety.

The Prince gently laid it to the side, before gathering a quill and ink to pen his reply. He would spare her the worst of the devastation and write instead of the things that brought him even a small amount of peace.

The next correspondence he received, was to inform him of the King's passing. He held his mother as she wept. Whether it was from true sorrow, or because it was what was expected of her. Ivan could not say.

The dead had been buried and the homes cleansed by the time he was permitted to leave the grounds and return to his castle once more. The servants bowed to him, and he bore his new title for the first time. His father, the late king, was buried with all respect due to him.

The kingdom was thrown into mourning, and Ivan dressed in black for a year.

The very next day, he underwent his coronation before the court, and his family. His royal crest was proudly displayed in nearly ever inch of the castle. The citizens milled in the street with bright faces full of hope and reverence. Credit had been given to Ivan for seeing the people through the lean months, and for organizing relief. Partly true, partly not. Still they cheered with all their hearts as he stood upon the balcony to address them as their King.

Princess Amelia attended the ceremony, but they were not permitted to speak. She curtsied to him, and he inclined his head. He found it a shame that she was not covered in mud this time, but was gladdened by seeing her again. King Arthur gave his condolences, of which Ivan wanted none. However, the treaty had been upheld and his people had recovered. His violet eyes sought out, and found, bright blue. Princess Amelia held his gaze. Both of their faces were nearly perfect masks of neutrality.

OoOoOo

The next time Ivan saw his future bride, was a few years later, at new negotiations for trade. The heavy wooden doors, polished to a high gleam, had been closing at the time. He was to be alone with the advisors of both Kingdoms, King Arthur, and his father. He caught a glimpse of her as she strode with her sisters. His betrothed was smiling and talking in a highly exuberant fashion.

She did not see him, but he noted the exasperation on the faces of her sisters. More so her twin, than the dark-haired princess.

The now-King of the North was unaware that his lips were twitching once more.

He was more cunning than his father, and by the end of their meeting, King Arthur nearly paid him to leave. King Ivan did not stop to see his betrothed before he returned to his home land. However, he did catch a glimpse of her watching his carriage as he departed. Her blue eyes seemed troubled and there was an uncertainty in her face. He pushed the thought away, for he had matters to attend to that deserved his full attention.

It was not easy to be a King, after all.

OoOoOo

Amelia turned sixteen one hot and dry day in July.

One week later, she was bustled up with all her personal possessions to start her life in the Northern Kingdom. Ivan had been made aware of his wedding by his personal attendant, whom had been forced to remind him that his betrothed had turned the proper age. He had become so wrapped up in affairs of his land, that he had nearly forgotten about her entirely.

Though, that was not wholly accurate, for in his meeting with other Kings, hints had been made to break his arrangement with the West Kingdom and marry Princess from a different land.

He had refused, mostly out of respect for King Arthur whom had upheld the treaty. King Ivan could not guarantee such loyalty from the honeyed but insincere words of other Kings. Therefore, he would not subject his people to another war if there was nothing to be gained by it. Time in his court had further hardened the heart of the stern child he had been. He was well suited to his role, and he was iron-fisted where it was called for.

Princess Amelia had grown, as people were inclined to do. Her wheat colored hair was longer, but her eyes were the same shade of blue he had always known. She was rather lovely, and there seemed to be a shy but excited emotion that radiated from her as she stepped foot in his home for the first time since his coronation. Ivan knew she had written a few letters since then, but he had been far too involved with strengthening his Kingdom to reply.

He would not allow his people to appear weak, that would only lead to other problems. His father's warmongering had earned his kingdom a reputation that Ivan sought to maintain, if only to shield the people for a time.

King Ivan received his bride with distant politeness, though he was pleased to see her and how she had matured. Though there was still a hint of roundness in her cheeks.

"I am well pleased to see you, My lord," she said softly. Her blue eyes appeared nearly impossibly bright.

"It is an honor to have you in my home," he replied stoically.

The brightness in her gaze dimmed a bit.

"It is as lovely as I remember."

He arched a brow, and nodded mutely. His advisor signaled to him, alerting him that another matter required his attention. He excused himself. The King failed to notice the broach he had given the Princess all those years ago, was pinned in proud display on her gown. Amelia was left nearly alone, except for her hand maiden and some servants, in the entry way with a look of shattered expectations.

No one commented, and even the servants felt a twinge of pity for the young woman.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Okay, my dear Readers!**_

_**Sorry, I have had life and family stuff going on. Updates will be sporadic. Next to be updated will be America AKA the Devil's Mistress, and then I am the worst sort of person, Enslavement, and Last Cry of the Humans. **_

_**I own nothing. Rated M. **_

OoOoOo

He knew something was off, before he even walked in the door. His first clue was the way America was practically at his side, with a hint of panic in her scent. Panic? Oh no. That meant one of three things, and Canada did not see a mushroom cloud out the window. The dead had not risen, and octopuses had not become sentient.

So... he knew something was _wrong._

Just not _what_ that something was up.

"Hey Canada?"

"Yes?"

"How much do you love me?"

... and that it was _big_. Canada frowned, already knowing that he was actually going to have to amass forces at this rate.

"Oh God, what have you done now?" He said, blinking down at his neighbor. Her blonde hair was nicely arranged today. Texas was perched on the bridge of her nose, where it rightfully belonged.

America looked indignant, as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Why do you always ask that? I haven't done anything!"

His violet eyes narrowed on her shrewdly. However, he could only see the truth shining in her features. Well, that and what looked like lip-gloss. He delicately sniffed the air, he nearly coughed up a storm. America was practically bathed in perfume. But there was a lingering sweetness. Something that caught in his mind, but not enough to sway him from the concern at hand.

"You swear?"

"Of course I swear! It's nothing I've _done._"

Yes, that wasn't ominous at all. Canada shifted, felling strangely compelled to get closer to America.

She swayed toward him slightly, then paled and moved back a step.

"Oh, then I like you enough to listen to the rest of your request."

She didn't appear fazed by his lack of love, or concern. They knew each other well enough that had it actually been overly dire, he would have at least reviewed a call from his leadership by now.

Hopefully...

"Epic! So anyway, do you think you could...just purely hypothetical here... fight off an entire room of Alpha countries?" She beamed at him.

Canada glanced at her, eyes widening slightly before his brow lowered in worry.

"...Why?"

"No reason."

Like he believed that after last time.

"America?"

She winced, actually winced and Canada watched her posture drop a bit. In fact it almost looked as if she were shrinking away from him. He was about to interrupt when he caught of whiff of that overly sweet, and somewhat tantalizing scent. He glanced around for a moment. It was definitely... Omega. Was Finland in heat again? He hoped not. Sweden was a nightmare when Finland was cycling.

America started making a soft whine in the back of her throat. His violet eyes switched back to America.

"Canada, promise me you won't get mad."

The Northern nation was distracted by the scent, but attempted to keep his attention focused on his neighbor of centuries. Also, there was the fact that America almost never used that phrasing unless it was something that was going to get Canada involved in trouble.

"I promise I will _try_ not to get mad," he clarified slowly.

Just to be safe.

America did a half-step and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I haven't been exactly...uh... truthful... about something."

Well, that was certainly vague enough to cause him to worry even more. A bit of aggression roared to life in his veins, as he nearly crowded America in an effort to provide her a sense of security.

He was, admittedly confused. He never reacted to America this way, but his instinct was in full force and he could not stop it.

"Alright," he said softly, keeping his voice low. A strange need to comfort America stole over him, at the look she was giving him now. As if he, Canada, was her only made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle with the urge to make sure she was safe. "What haven't you been truthful about?"

She gave a nervous tug on her suit jacket. The gesture was nearly child-like and betrayed just how anxious she was. "Well, you remember when I said I was an Alpha?"

Canada's lips quirked, half-amused at what that had to do with anything. Until America met his gaze and couldn't hold it. She was acting like...

No. That was not possible. Was it?

His mind nearly had a small implosion right then and there.

"What?"

"I'm not... I mean technically, and really what is all this semantics bullshit about anyway... but I'm not an... Alpha. Per se." She winced again and glanced at him nervously.

It only took two seconds for Canada to go into a rage.

For him.

"Per se? What the hell does that mean?"

"Well," she said with a high pitch to the end of her word. "You see..."

"You're a Beta?" He demanded, nearly ready to drag her home and insist she stay there. IF anyone found out that she wasn't an Alpha, it could cause an upheavel. There were countries that had been waiting to get something over on America. "Do you know how bad this is?"

"Yeah, that would be totally bad... if..."

"If?" Canada asked, going pale.

"If.. I were a _Beta."_

Wait. If she wasn't an Alpha... and she wasn't a Beta... then...

"Oh Dear Lord." The revelation nearly knocked all the wind out of his sails. He stared at her as if she'd grown an extra head. Canada swallowed, trying not to feel dizzy, as her scent washed over him and the very real fear rose above the veritable garden of perfume she was wearing.

"Canada?" America asked, slowly and cautiously coming closer to him. A gentle noise of comfort managed to steal its way out of her throat.

Canada's Alpha instincts reared to the fore front again, as the Omega attempted to calm his anger. It all made sense now. Why he could never remain furious at America. She was actually, biologically speaking, not a threat to him.

How did he miss that?

"You've got to be kidding me." He said, grumbling as he kept his body from making an aggressive stance.

America lowered her head a bit, before bringing it back up. Canada moved them away from the doors, just in case someone came in.

"I really wish I was, but this isn't the sort of thing that calls for a whoopee cushion or 100,000 ladybugs being set loose in England's home... so..."

"That was you?" He asked, momentarily distracted.

"Yes, but that is not the point right now." She said, checking over her shoulder. Still no one.

"You're not." He said with a mounting sense of dread.

"Not what?"

Canada glanced around, trying to be stealthy. He mouthed a single word, and America looked down sharply.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah I am."

"How? How did you get away with hiding this?" His tone conveyed just how stupefied he was by this.

"Well, I'm a nation." She pointed out, daring to risk a glance up at him. "So you know... I... look, it only happens like once every 50 years anyway and-"

"Happens?"

"You know," she said blushing to the roots of her hair. "_Heat."_

_Oh God. _

"Oh God." Canada breathed, feeling his shoulder straighten even more. He puffed out his chest not realizing he was doing so. America was in danger. Real danger. From possible suitors.

She grabbed at his lower arm gently, nearly skittishly. His gaze focused on where she touched him. Almost entirely against his will. A soft growl worked its way through his throat. America responded with a distressed noise.

"Come on, if you just help me for a few hours-"

"Help you? Holy crap America. What do you want me to do here?"

She made a helpless sort of facial expression.

"Help me hide the fact that I'm... _you know_."

"You're in heat?!" He hissed, looking nearly murderous as the sweet scent continued to tickle his nose. His eyes were darkening, though he was unaware of it. America nodded slowly, tilting her head down a bit.

"Well, once again... I mean, _technically_."

"There is no technically here! There either is or there isn't. That's like saying you are half-pregnant. There is no such thing!" He began shouting.

"Keep it down! Geez! Look, they can't know Canada. You are one of my closest allies. Figuratively and literally. Please, I am asking you as a friend. Help me hid this just for this meeting."

Her blue eyes pleaded with him. Canada rand a hand through his hair in frustration. He looked at her pointedly, and America did her best to hold his gaze. He knew that she was at her weakest right now.

"How has no one figured this out before?"

"It only happens once every 50 years. Most people do not stay around me long enough to figure it out. I've been doing and using things to help me mask my scent since I was a colony. Plants mostly. You know?"

"Stop saying 'You know'."

She flashed a timid smile. One that was strained at the edges.

"Sorry, turn of phrase. Anyway, I am a little stubborn and I'm very opinionated as well as loud mouthed-"

"Oh! Oh! Now you finally admit it? This is rich. This is just too -"

America made a noise of distress that had the Alpha in him responding instantly. Canada shut his mouth, and moved closer toward her, giving a reassuring presence once more. His chest rumbled as his mind fought over what to do to keep the world from noticing. He was ready to have an ulcer on the spot, and he felt bad that he was chastising her when she was likely much worse off then him.

"I'm sorry. Yes, alright. Alright. I'll help you hide the fact that you're..."

"'You know'."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Those two words were going to haunt his sleep for years to come. He could just feel it.

"Yes. That you're '_you know'."_

_"_Canada you are the best!" She said, beaming at him, her scent changed to relived and that had him feeling less on edge.

"Thank you."

He stilled, looking at her again.

"Wait, if you have been masking your scent since you were a colony, then why is it a problem right now?"

"I've never had to mask it during a heat before," America confessed shyly, looking more than a tad nervous. "And, it really doesn't help that I am not at home, where some of my distress could be helped by my people, the omegas at least, taking most of the burden away from me."

Canada blinked at her, clearly thinking.

"Is that why you're birth rates are so high, by comparison?"

America blushed and looked away.

"I neither confirm nor deny that."

OoOoOo

Canada was glaring at every Alpha in sight. Which was quite a lot of countries. Most were put off by his sudden hostility, others had no idea what had made him so upset. A few of his closer allies kept glancing at him every few minutes, half afraid he would beat them to death with their own shoes. When, of course, they could be pulled away from their biology to think about why he was acting so strange.

It was the scent that was distracting the Alphas. The sweet tang of a nation, ripe for the taking, filled the room. Slowly, but steadily, the scent did not go away. It was covered by the various perfumes, colognes, and different brands of detergents. However, the sweet smell could not fully be covered, and it was driving the Alphas half insane. Nearly every one of them wanted to know which Omega was in heat.

The only problem was, there were multiple Omegas, Betas, and Alphas present. Each Alpha was attempting to locate the source of the scent, wanting to bury their nose in it and inhale the instinct driving pheromone. Yet, they could not pin point it.

It was Russia that noted the fact America was wearing Canada's jacket. He was mostly disinterested. He too was attempting to locate the source of the heat pheromone. It was not a familiar smell to him. He had thought he knew each Omega, or the majority by now. However, fate was apparently smiling on him, for as soon as the meeting had ended, America ran into him. While he was attempting to wait for China to meet him for a lengthy discussion on upcoming joint operations.

Literally. The female nation ran into him. Almost as if the hounds of hell were chasing her.

She clutched Canada's jacket tightly as she planted, face-first, into his chest.

It was the pheromones that kept Russia from making a snide comment as he watched America run into him. He had been anticipating exchanging verbal barbs with the Star-spangled nation, however, he lost all interest to do so.

Violet eyes widened, and then starred at America as if the Alpha were so shocked he could not move.

She looked up, rubbing her now sore nose, and tears filled her eyes in reaction to the sudden smack to her face. Something tightened in her belly, low and warm. A rush of arousal coursed through her, as she froze before the Alpha. Her body appreciated his presence and closeness. Far to much.

Oh... this could go... really bad.

Russia could hardly process what he was seeing. America, with shiny eyes, glanced up at him, nearly shyly. Her face paled and then flushed. She was distracted and in a hurry, he could tell. However, she was radiating that scent. The one that had driven him to distraction. The one that made his hands itch and mouth water in anticipation of mating. What caught his attention the most, however, was that the scent spike shortly after she looked at him. He took a deeper whiff, and his eyes darkened in understanding.

"Ah, sorry dude." America said quickly, realizing that her cover was about to be blown sky high. "I uh... was sitting next to this omega, but they were in heat and-"

"Omega?" He tilted his head, appraising her.

She skirted away from him, something she'd never done and started laughing rather forcefully. Her blue eyes flicked toward the door, not once but twice.

"Yeah. I mean... uh... da. Omega," she said with a wide but false smile. She could feel the throbbing starting in her nethers, and knew she needed to get away from him quickly. America barely managed to suppress a groan. This was so not good.

"Some of the scent must have rubbed off on me." She babbled nervously.

Where was Canada? America gave a gentle whine of distress.

"Really?" He asked, arching a brow as he appeared even more intimidating in his business suit, even though his body language suggested he was not trying to intimidate her. In fact, it almost as if he wanted to keep her from bolting, as he moved across the room and around her. America froze.

"I find that hard to believe." He whispered into her ear.

She whirled around, noticing that he was standing in front of the door.

Damn! Not good!

"What, why?" She asked with a strained smile.

"What was the Omega's name?"

"Their name?" The star spangled nation parroted. "What's that got to do with anything?"

He gave her a knowing look. One that sent shivers through her spine, and did incredibly inappropriate things to her heat addled mind.

"I think should it obvious," he remarked with his accent deepening.

There was a look in his gaze that had her moving a few steps backward. Hungry. He looked very, very hungry; and not for food.

America swallowed, her mouth suddenly went dry. Her eyes widened and she did not realize that she had lowered her gaze away from his.

"What do you mean, obvious?"

"Every country has a name. It matters. So, who was it?"

Her mind refused to cooperate with her, as she felt her knees start to weaken. Damn her biology!

"You cannot tell me the name of the Omega."

"Sure I can... it was Lithuania." She said with a hint of desperation to her words.

Russia chuckled, a deep and rich sound.

"No it wasn't."

Dread pooled in her stomach at his correct assertion.

"Yes it was." She stubbornly insisted.

"Lithuania wasn't sitting with you."

America winced. She had forgotten that part.

"Did-did I say Lithuania? I meant uh... Wales."

He started forward, coming toward her with measured steps. America forced herself to hold her ground as he stopped just shy of her. HIs body seemed to crowd her. America felt herself flush. The room was smaller. Was the room smaller? Why was it so hot in here?

The deep rumbled from Russia's chest caught her attention, and America was horrified to discover that she moaned quietly in response.

"Was not at the meeting."

"Italy?" She said, with her voice cracking slightly.

Russia shook his head slowly. His hand came up and the back of one finger gently stroked her cheek.

"I think not. Also, you have never apologized to me before." He said with a low tone that bordered on pure seductiveness.

America swallowed heavily, replaying their conversation in her mind. Texas showcased just how her lovely eyes widened in realization. However, she was not one for giving up easily.

"Yeah? Well, uh, I am turning over a new leaf. You know?"

His face drew closer to hers, their lips almost touched as a single breath mingled between the pair. Russia was nearly high on her pheromones, and America was not any better off. Everything inside her felt fuzzy and warm. Still, she did not put a stop to this and part of her vaguely wondered as to 'why'.

"An Omega leaf?"

He knew. She stepped away. Keening at the loss of contact between them. The Alpha's eyes narrowed, as he watched her. America noted that he started to follow her. Oh no.

"Ha. Ha. Silly Russia. There is no such leaf. You are being so funny, I have to- I think I lit my house on fire."

That made him pause. His eyes showed his confusion at her statement.

"What?"

"Yep," America said, quickly moving around him. He made no move to stop her. That was good, right? Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and she felt hot all over. Her legs trembled slightly as she drew closer to the door. "I have to go."

The look on Russia's face turned predatory. "Come here Amerika."

The tone of his voice had her traitorous body nearly shaking. She tried desperately to hide it. Her head lowered instinctively, as she recognized him as an Alpha, physically and mentally.

Crap.

"Uh... I really don't think that is a good idea." The Omega nation tried to reply lightly.

"Why?" He all but purred the question at her.

She couldn't exactly think of a reason.

"My horoscope said it was a bad plan."

"Horoscope?"

There was amusement in the single word.

"Oh yeah. Those things are like scary accurate and I-" Here blue eyes widened as her hand reached for the door knob, only to find it locked. She glanced down at it and back at Russia. "When the hell did you do that?"

"Three minutes ago," he admitted with a wide smile.

"Why?"

"So you couldn't run away."

She flattened herself to the door. Her blue eyes narrowed behind Texas. "Stay away."

It was meant to be threatening, or at the very least a warning. It came out a breathy mess of insincerity.

"You don't want me to."

"I do so." America insisted, but even that protest felt flat to her normal heated arguments.

Russia chose to ignore her. His gazed lingered up and down her body, and she knew he could see the way she was trembling.

"Come here." He purred at her and motioned with one finger. He crooked it at her. America's legs felt as if they were made of jelly. To her horror, she actually took a step toward him.

Russia looked delighted. His violet eyes nearly seemed to glow with a lustful light.

"It's not what you think." She tried for one last attempt to shake the larger nation from pursuing her.

"I think it is."

"No, I... I'm an Alpha."

"In some alternate reality, maybe." He lowered his voice, causing America's eyes to drop downward, staring at her shoes for a moment. "But not this one. Come. Here. Amerika."

"I'd really rather not," she said with a inflection that sounded akin to a whine, but her other foot slid forward. She cursed her fate, as her body responded to the commanding figure her on again off again false ally invoked against her heated brain.

Russia quirked his lips in amusement. The heavy scent of both arousal and slight panic did actually make him want to chuckle. However, he did not want her afraid. America was still strangely strong. Despite the interesting fact that apparently, she was not the Alpha he had always assumed she was. Or the Alpha she told everyone else she was.

He had suspected Beta for about sixty years or so. But Omega? Now that was a juicy detail he had been unaware of. However, it did leave him to reflect upon when she had once asked for his assistance during her war of Independence. Something he had actually declined.

Perhaps that had been a bit hasty.

Yet, the first thing he wanted to do, was rip Canada's jacket off of her to remove the scent of any other Alpha. He growled lowly at the thought of her in another Alpha's possession.

He could tell that his presence was effecting her, and America did not appear overly distraught about being alone with him during such a... sensitive time.

"Hm," Russia voiced, by way of response. His violet gaze, darker than Canada's, watched her intently. "I do have to say, that I find myself needing to apologize."

"What?" America asked, clearly startled by the change in subject.

"We do not have the proper nesting materials here." His tone almost sounded regretful. Actually, it did sound a tad regretful.

Her blue eyes were wide and Russia could see that her pupils were dilated. He smiled smugly. So, she did find him attractive, that pleased him.

"Russia," the Omega said, her chest heaving from the toll it was taking on her body to stay away form the Alpha. "Think about this."

"I have," he assured her as he crooked his finger at her again.

"You, you don't even get along with me."

"It will be better now, trust me."

"I-"

"You are going to come here, so that I can lay claim to you."

It was an Omega's weakness, the claiming and nesting talk. Russia knew that well, but he also meant every word of it. And, it did not hurt him that America would be an excellent allied mate. Because honestly, Russia would not mind having a little wife around, as Sweden had in Finland. Also, there was a strange sense of delighted irony in the fact that it would be America of all nations.

England would have an apoplectic fit, he was certain of it.

"Nesting? Claiming? I don't think that we need to talk about-" She demurred, her voice slightly softer and her trembling had only creased.

"You're right, we don't need to talk about it. Come here. I'll take care of everything else."

America was hardly aware that she was moving toward him, until Russia's hand clamped firmly around her waist.


	10. Chapter 10

**_This author claims no rights to the characters borrowed for this fan fiction. _**

**_OMEGA verse chapter finish. _**

**_Also, I have no idea if the terms of Endearment Russia says make sense. I tried. Honest. I got them from some site about 32 Russian endearments. (I forgot to post the link, but I want you to know that it came from there, so if I accidently insulted anyone's mother, I am very sorry!)_**

**_Whoo. Warning. SMUT ahead. Totally sorry. If it is not your thing, basically skip this whole chapter after the third page break. _**

**_I own nothing. Rated M. _**

OoOoOo

America had no idea what to do when faced with a smiling Russia. Well, smiling might have been more accurately described as happily grinning. The self-assured victory of an Alpha that had figured out her secret. Something she'd managed to keep for over three freaking centuries, but had now blown up in her face.

Because it was Tuesday, she decided firmly.

Or the fact that she had, at a very unfortunate time, gone into heat. Which had never occurred around an Alpha before. She'd always had her home land to rely upon and the people to help bare her burden. Here, at this moment, she was bereft of all of that. There was only Russia, everything in her vibrated toward the violet eyes, still darker than her neighbors, that bored into her with a look of undisguised _lust_ and _possessiveness._

There was also the fact that she was wearing Canada's jacket, something she only remembered because it was soon ripped away from her shoulders as a possessive growl worked its way out of Russia's throat.

She pretended that it did not make her nether regions respond like crazy. That would be idiotic. Russia and she did not even get along and now he was wanting to...

To...

_Claim _her, and it sounded so confident and lustful that her earlier trembling started anew. His eyes seemed to devour her, and America found that she enjoyed the feeling. As much as she was uncertain about it.

The door was locked, and she knew she could have easily ripped it open, but she hadn't. Now as his mouth latched onto certain parts of her, she knew why.

America wanted him. She knew she wanted Russia. This was...

She didn't know what it was, but she was nearly wanton in underneath his caress. She arched into his hands, silently pleading for more.

Clothing was quickly discarded under his steady hands, all the parts that separated him from her. Somehow, she he managed to get her leaning over the nearest desk. A raw growl of dominant Alpha echoed in the room. Russia nipped at her skin, and his breath was hot upon her neck as she heard the tell-tale sound of his zipper being undone.

There was a loud bang upon the locked door. It jolted America partly out of her lust-induced haze. She blinked blearily through Texas, at the door. Russia snarled, turning his head toward the noise.

"The room is occupied."

Their combined scent was nearly overwhelming in the confines of the room. America was desperate mess of sheet _need._

His voice was thick, but his accent was even thicker, leaving no need to guess who had said the words. America could only still as the wood splintered in the next moment, a furious looking Canada was baring his teeth at Russia, looking ready to kill.

"CANADA!" America gasped out in horror and also extreme annoyance. He was interrupting her primal need to be mounted and claimed by the gorgeous Alpha behind her.

There effect was instantaneous as Canada leapt into action, ripping Russia away from a rather provocatively revealed America. The Omega felt as if a bucket of ice water had been doused over her head, as Canada started swinging.

Snarls and grunts of pain filled the air as Russia met Canada's challenge with more vigor than anyone had been expecting. The taller Alpha was playing to win, and his strength and tenacity were not lost upon Canada whom had come to America's defense.

He ducked under a particularly vicious blow, and glared at the trembling Omega.

"Get going!" Canada roared so loudly that America jolted. "Go! Now!"

America scrambled to get her discarded clothes and nodded. A whine of distress tore from her throat as She heard another dull thud of flesh on flesh. Russia seemed livid. The room was quickly drenched in the scent of fury, rage, and desperation. From who, America did not know, nor did she stick around to find out.

"Thank you Canada!" She called out, as she danced into her clothes, his jacket, and fled.

"Just go!" Echoed down the hallway, followed by one more shout from a Slavic nation.

"Do not leave!"

She stilled. Her feet seemed to lock into place, as she watched the pair fight over her. Her common sense told her to run, but on a primitive level she recognized Russia's command as more important. That was until Canada shouted at her one more time.

The Omega covered her ears, for her traitorous body wanted her to stay put. That would only lead to insanity. She was going home. It was too dangerous otherwise. The political balance of the world would shift, one way or the other, if she did not leave.

OoOoOo

She alerted her president to the trouble, who redirected her flight plan to land almost exactly where her house was. Only a few miles off. America wasted no time to collect her things, she'd go get them in a week.

There was no time to waste. Her scent did not bother her own people, it never would. However, to another nation, her pheromones were thick and intoxicating.

America raced in the door, her body felt as if it were melting. Heat pooled between her thighs and refused to stop. It was slick with need and denied sexual satisfaction. Her body pulsed, begging for an Alpha.

The Alpha that had made her feel this way. Who had gotten so close to claiming her and making the burning disappear.

_Russia._

Only, now she was by herself, surrounded by her familiar things and in a home she'd known for decades. America bolted up the stairs and headed straight for the linen closet. She slammed open the door with more force than needed as she panted.

Her core throbbed, needy and aching, but she clenched her teeth and fought the desperate waves of urges that rolled through her. The Omega's hands shook as she reached for as many sheets as she could find. The pillows that were on the floor underneath the bottom shelf were pulled out next.

She could not see anything as she maneuvered through the hall with her arms laden with her nesting materials. America felt sweat gather at her temples, and between her shoulder blades. Her body had taken extreme exception to being denied what should have rightfully been hers. An Alpha that wanted to pound her into the table.

The memory caused a surge of heat to pool in her loins, and America whined in distress. Damn those Alphas. IF they had to go through this so much as once, they would not last a day. However, that was neither here nor there, she conceded as she moved toward the room adjacent to her bedroom.

She'd never been this delayed in making a nest, so it was not going to be as arranged as she would have preferred. There was also little time to slowly bleed out her need into her people. If America released it now, every Omega within her borders would go into full blown heat. There would be chaos. For a few days at least, if not longer.

Therefore, she would bear the brunt of it all by herself, and keep the people out of it this time.

The sheets were quickly strewn about, pillows moved into the places she liked them, as America began shedding her business attire. The blonde Omega pulled at the fabric until it tore. She let out a might curse as the room seemed far too hot for her to tolerate. With a few stumbling steps, she headed over to the thermometer, and changed the settings.

She gave a grateful mental thanks of a prayer, as the first stirrings of cold air began to blow through the vent.

America managed to get down to her undergarments, fanning her heated face and standing under the air conditioning to cool her body. It helped, but not enough. She gave a soft noise of irritation as her thighs trembled. All around her, she could smell Russia on her clothes. It was sweet _torture._

She knew they did not get along all that well, and she hadn't cared a bit with his hands on her. His sinful mouth working its way along her-

No. She was only making it worse on herself. America paced the room, whimpering and trying not to focus on her predicament. She attempted to think of affairs of state instead.

OoOoOo

Russia was _not_ an Alpha to be denied. He especially did not enjoy when someone snatched his intended mate out from under him. Nearly literally. It had caused quite the ruckus at the world meeting. The distraction had also allowed little Amerika to flee from him.

Which had further upset the Alpha. The fight had been over rather quickly after that, and he had left Canada breathing but bruised.

His dark violet eyes would have caused many other nations to cower. However, Canada was politically tied with America through treaties, as he was with Russia but there were extenuating circumstances, so Russia commended his follow through. That did not mean he had to like the disruption of his mating.

Or that Canada had attempted to stop him from following America. Such an idea seemed sound, but in reality it was an impossible feat. She had accepted him as her mate, though he had not been able to claim her.

America's government had placed a ban on allowing Alpha nations to enter her borders. An amusing idea, really. There were ways around that as well. A few greased wheels here and there... and now he was parked outside of her home. Russia refused to give up his mate. She was his, and he'd fight any male that even tried to come near her.

Therefore, for her safety really -because he was such caring mate-, he followed her back to her shores. He knew where she lived, and he would stop at nothing to get to her. His Omega was in need of him.

Russia could tell the moment he stepped out of his rental car. The aroma of her pheromones beckoned to him like a beacon. It pleaded with him to mount her. Which he intended to do this time.

If she opened the door, her fate was sealed as his wife. If she did not open the door. Well... windows could be broken, and she had already proved that she would willingly submit to him. The thought nearly caused him to purr in delight, and his violet eyes glowed at the memory.

With that at mind, he stalked to her front door, noting that she had recently added some new coverings to the windows.

They looked nice, he approved. Perhaps he would allow her to redecorate his home, when she came to live with him.

His shoulders straightened a bit, and he allowed his Alpha pheromones to spike as he caught the scent of her once more. Sweet and tantalizing.

He pressed the button for her door bell. The jingle rang through the house.

OoOoOo

America had settled for twisting in the sheets for a bit. Hoping that the sensation of it against her skin would alleviate some discomfort. The room was slightly chilly and Goosebumps had began to appear on her body. However, she still felt overheated and nearly dizzy with the urge to mate. She felt empty, aching, burning, and half-drenched in her own arousal.

The doorbell jerked her from her mental exercises to ignore the slow heat burning throughout her veins. The slickness between her thighs had not stopped in the slightest. Who could possibly be here? Her rattled brain scrambled for someone who might come.

Canada. It had to be Canada coming to check on her. She winced in near lust-pain as she stumbled to put on a robe from her closet. America bit her lip to keep from crying out. Canada might have something to help ease her ache.

Maybe.

America nearly tumble down the hallway, but managed to make it safely down the stairs. She thanked God for small favors.

Her hand trembled as she gripped the door knob and steeled herself against the newest wave of sheer animalistic desire that coursed through her. Biology could be merciless. She swung the door open, only to feel her breath catch in her throat.

The scent identified him in an instant. Male, familiar, and decidedly Alpha.

It was nearly an uncontrollable impulse to open the door. It was done before she registered battling over the decision.

She clung to the frame, barely able to do more than blink at the hulking image that Russia presented. Harsh around the edges, and undeniably aroused. Dominant in every inch of his physique. Her Omega nature recognized him instantly.

"H-Hey." She said, attempting to think of something to say.

"Amerika," he all but purred at her.

She gave a keening noise then, unable to stop her body from trembling anew.

"How are you?" The Omega asked, trying not to pant in front of him. Maybe she could play this off. Say she wasn't in heat and it was all a misunderstanding. Her nose decided to play turncoat, as she hoped to inhale more of his scent. It calmed her slightly.

They were both aware of what she was doing.

"I am well," he replied with a grin as his eyes seemed to devour her nearly indecent state, "I would think it fair to state that I am better off than you."

America responded with some sort of non-committal noise as her fingers bit deeply into the wood as she tried to soothe down the raging hormones that were running away with her body.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" He asked, in such a way that sent molten heat straight to her core. She could feel herself throb nearly painfully.

"Don't know. I...I..." She started, knowing the consequences of what admitting him would be. "I-"

"I never did get the chance to mount you," Russia said, nearly conversationally, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that labeled him predatory. "And, I do not intend to allow that mistake to go uncorrected."

America swallowed, her eyes widening as she began to visibly shake.

"Ru-Russia," she demurred with less composure. "This isn't a good idea, you should go-"

"Amerika," he replied sternly. "You are still in heat and I am your _Alpha_."

The words he said caused her stomach to flip nervously. Part of her yearned for such a thing, the other part of her knew that there would be some massive ramifications. She looked away, one foot slid backward, almost as if to permit him entrance.

It was crazy! It was unheard of! However, he was her Alpha. No he wasn't. They hated each other.

Yet... yet... she wanted him.

Russia had not missed the movement. He grinned wolfishly.

Her head and gaze lowered and she gave a soft groan.

"I... I know and-" She paused midsentence, her eyes going wide. Her gaze met his, only for a fraction of an instant as her words echoed between them.

Russia looked as if he were savoring the finest of victories.

"There is no 'and'." He said commandingly, his eyes were brighter than she'd ever seen them. "There is only you... being taken by me. My little_ Omega_."

America trembled as his tall and imposing body was against hers in an instant. She clung to him as if he were the only port during the most vicious of storms. The Omega could not let him go. She needed him.

His lips claimed hers in a searing kiss that left no room to doubt what was about to happen between them. America's arms twined around his neck, trying to pull him even closer with a moan of approval.

Russia yanked her body flush with his, nearly crushing her to him in a possessive display of his approval. He tore his mouth away, leaving America glassy-eyed and rubbing against him in her burning need to relieve the sexual frustration she was feeling.

He'd fix that very, _very_ soon.

Russia kicked the door closed as he pushed them further into the house. His hands were in constant contact with her skin, and he did not bother to untangle her from him. He ripped the robe off of her, allowing her body to be seen, and it was a glorious sight. He growled in arousal. As he ran his hands down her waist, in a possessive yet tender caress.

America panted, her eyes were nearly as smoldering as Russia's own.

He was very much going to enjoy this.

"Where is it?" He demanded, not wasting any time.

"What?"

"Your nest, I know it must be here somewhere." Violet eyes scanned the visible rooms, yet found nothing.

She glanced back over her shoulder, her body refusing to release the Alpha that had come for her.

"Up there, through my bedroom." She whispered, nearly shyly, as she glanced back at him. Twin spots of color blossomed on her cheeks.

Russia needed no further directions, as he scooped her up into his arms, and took the stairs nearly two at a time. America nuzzled his neck, and placed soft kisses on the spots she nuzzled.

OoOoOo

He stepped into her nest, as if he owned it. Something that actually Made America's raging hormones, rage harder. She nearly attacked his mouth in an effort to have him hurry up a bit.

It was not long before she was positioned, naked and wanton, for her Alpha.

She could not even remember being lowered to the sheets. Her head was slightly fuzzy as his scent seemed to make the heat worse, but so infinitely better at the same time.

Her legs trembled slightly as he spread them further, his hands were warm and slightly rough on her skin, but America enjoyed every moment of it. The way he caressed her already slickened clit, was measured and purposeful all at once. She knew that he wanted her to enjoy their mating, and that thought calmed her considerably.

"Amerika," he said lowly, clearly not able to hold back much longer. "You know who you submit to?"

She didn't look back at him, but she nodded slowly as she panted.

He said nothing more, as he positioned himself at her entrance. She was ready, nearly beyond ready, as he sheathed himself inside her for the first time.

America, known for being a bit louder than others, let out a plaintive wail of approval. The dull aching and emptiness was replaced with the hot length of very real Alpha inside of her. Russia let out a groan of his own at the way her tight warmth contracted around him.

She wiggled around him, already wanting more sensation to ease the arousal induced throbbing in her loins.

He pulled back, thrusting into her as she cried out in pleasure. Wanting to feel and reach for a completion she did not know. Yet, under his hands, she knew she would.

"More," America begged, uncaring about pride at the moment.

"Needy bitch," he growled lowly, meaning the words as provocative.

In her heightened state of vulnerability, however, America heard them as an actual insult. Her heart seemed to shutter in her chest. Her hands fisted into the sheets, and she stilled. Her body still wanted him desperately, the heat of him thrusting inside her was nearly all consuming. Physically.

Emotionally, she pulled away. Shame coursed through her chest. She attempted not to think about anything at all, just retreat into some quite place in her head. Not wanting to feel any more used than she was certain she would feel when Russia had had his fun with her body. The same body that had been pushing back against him just moments ago.

"You like it, da?" He groaned in her ear, his hot breath caressed the shell and caused her to shiver pleasantly.

America said nothing. She pressed her head into the sheets, trying to brace herself against how mechanical it all felt at the moment.

The Alpha noticed her lower her head. Something was off.

It was then that Russia realized the Omega beneath him had stopped all of her pleasurable noises. The ones he deeply enjoyed. His violet eyes opened and he blinked down at her. America's face was buried in the sheets, as if she were ashamed. Curling away from the Alpha and toward something that would allow her to pretend this wasn't happening.

Her blue eyes were tightly shut and she did not look nearly as endearingly wanton as she had before. That was not the reaction he had hoped for. He had wanted her a simpering mess, begging for him to take her.

This would not do.

If she was not responding to that approach, perhaps, she preferred a more tender lover in her Alpha? Because_ he_ was _her Alpha_. The thought gave him a feeling of power, but also compelled him to want to protect her. Her nearly unmoving form was bothersome. She was a willing participant in this, and yet she acted as if it were something to merely be tolerated until the deed was done.

Unacceptable.

The Alpha paused in his thrusting, wanting to bring about the mewls of delight America had given to him before. Her keening wails of pleasure as she was brought to a plateau of pleasure by his manhood. That image was much more erotic and satisfying to him. He nuzzled her neck, and nipped at her shoulder, a bit of pleasure-pain to get her attention.

She turned her head slightly, and he could see that her eyes were tightly closed. It irked something within him. She should be looking at him. He wanted her to watch him, wanted her to know exactly who her Alpha was. Who she had submitted to.

"Я мечтал об этом не всю свою жизнь" Russia said with a raw note of sensuality to his words.

America's eyes flew open and her lower lip trembled. Her blue gaze moved to his, and he could feel her silken muscles clamp tightly around him in surprise. He watched with barely restrained lust as her cheeks pinked with a slight blush. She still understood what she had learned from him so very long ago.

He grinned at that, though it was affectionate but at the same time feral.

"Ты такая восхитительная"

His words caused her to begin to pant again, her hips pushed back against where they were joined, and a gentle mewl of yearning answered his words. Her renewed participation caused his erection to twitch in excitement.

Ah. So America was a romantic at heart? She did not enjoy the 'dirty' talk. Or at least, not upon Russia's first mating with her. There would always be next time. Because, there _would be_ a next time. She'd let him into her home and her nest. She'd let him mount her, begged for it even.

The memory of the last few minutes filled him with a sense of pride and deep seeded longing. It was true, what she had said. They had not always gotten along. Far from it. Now, however, Russia knew that America would no longer be challenging him as she had done in the past, or at least, not in the same way.

If she wanted to solve their disputes with him bending her over the table at the world meetings, which he had been intending to do -prior to Canada's disruption-, Russia would certainly not object.

America was beginning to fist her hands in the sheets. The ones that were doused in the heady pheromones of their sexual congress. He slid his hands over the mounds of her breasts, an arousing caress upon her already heated flesh.

"R-Russia," she panted softly, her mouth moved to catch her lower lip between her teeth. She was moving against him now without inhibitions.

Gentle words of praise were the way to America's heart. He understood that he had erred with her before. Now he wanted to cement their union by giving her the most pleasure possible. It would also make it so that her skin burned with the memory of his touch and his claim upon her would be emotionally that much stronger.

He moved his hips and gently began sliding out of her, only to push back inside with equal slowness.

"Любимая моя"

America gasped, moving upon his erection with even more erratic motions. As if she could not get enough of him and the sensations he created within her. That too caused Russia no small amount of satisfaction.

"Помни, я всегда рядом" He purred, as he leaned down to kiss a patch of her exposed shoulder, his tongue laved over the nip he had given previously, to soothe it down. She moaned then, bracing her forearms on the floor and pushing back against him with all her might.

The motion rocked the nest.

"Ты всегда в моих мыслях" He groaned gutturally, and it was rather true. She was forever on his mind as a threat, irritation, and so forth. Now, however, things between them were a world of difference. He would watch over her carefully. For even as an Omega, she'd fought wars upon wars. That made her worthy of his respect, as well as a firm hand. He would protect what was his, and America was now his.

His female. His mate.

He would be as a stone wall, for America to hide behind if she had need of him. Russia felt the furling of tender emotions curl around his heart. She would be with him forever. He'd fight anyone that dared come near what was his.

"Please," America whimpered, asking for something that only Russia could give her.

Completion.

Her fingers tore at the sheets as she arched her back, her head came up and she let out a moan of intense pleasure. It delighted Russia to no end, to see her uninhibited with him plundering her depths with the greed known to nations.

He didn't want the sensation of being connected with her to end. America, had she been able to read his mind, would have voiced the same opinion.

"Мой милый ангел" Russia said softly, pulling out of her. America gave a deep whine of surprise and distress.

"Russia!" She called out, slightly vexed, for he made the burning feel better and the way he touched her had her mind in a haze of passion. She gave a squeak as he all but flipped her over. Settling between her legs again.

He thrust in quickly, his entrance eased by her slickened folds.

"Yes," she moaned with appreciation. Feeling wild and attractive. He made her feel... different. Unique in some way. Wanted.

Even as he claimed every inch of her for his own.

"Всё чего я хочу чтобы ты стала моей женой"

Her sky-blue gaze went wide, and it was glazed with pleasure as she registered his words. America tossed her head from side to side, feeling overwhelmed by the sensations of his thrusting inside her nether regions.

Heat. Sensation. Pleasure. Tenderness. It was all too much.

Too wonderful.

She was on the edge of ecstasy, and America wanted it to continue as much as she wanted to reach the pinnacle experience.

"My Omega," he told her, before kissing her deeply.

America's eyes slid closed as she opened her mouth willingly to his invasion. The sheets were a mess, and the scent of their sex was heavy in the air. All of it made her feel dizzy. She clutched at him, gently, as if afraid he was merely a figment of her imagination.

"Alpha," she gasped when he pulled away.

The words ignited something in Russia, and his thrusting went from gentle to fevered. America held on tight as he sunk into her again and again. She wailed, screamed, and demanded more in the way she tried to move with him.

"Скажи, что любишь меня!" He demanded, his gruff voice seemed to echo throughout her core as the waves of pleasure crashed down around her, muddling her mind.

"Yes!" America gasped, as she reached her pinnacle. "Yes, I love you."

He purred at her then, a sound that conveyed just how pleased he was by her words. He placed a kiss on her shoulder as he followed her into the incredible throes of orgasmic bliss. His eyes watched her face as he swelled within her.

Russia curled the exhausted Omega to his side, nuzzling her occasionally to make certain she was alright. His violet eyes gleamed nearly sinfully as he gazed around the disrupted remnants of her nest. The red, white, and blue sheets were somehow all perfect with their accompanying pillows. It was impossible to tell that it was specifically to America, because after all, they were Russia's colors as well.

He stroked his exhausted Omega's hair with affection. She would be an excellent mate, and he was well pleased with her.

OoOoOo

When Canada found them, over a week later, when Alphas were cleared to come back into the country, he politely invited Russia outside, before proceeding to get into a no-hold-barred battle of fisticuffs.

America, on the other hand, was left to inform the rest of the world over how she'd just become Russia's little wife. Her mated status made all of the political confidential papers. Russia made certain to keep a protective arm about her shoulders as they sat around the meetings.

Russia did, however, make it a point to speak with Sweden about how one handled a 'wife'. It had been very informative.

Word had spread, that America was not an Alpha.

Most were clearly in disbelief, until they saw a blushing America while Russia whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was, it made both of them nearly reek of arousal.

England did, in fact, have an fit-as Russia predicted- when she broke the news to him over the phone. As a result, calls from anywhere within the U.S. or affiliated territories were banned for 3 months.

OoOoOo

**Translations:**

**Ты такая восхитительная**\- You are so heavenly.

**Любимая моя**\- My sweetheart.

**Помни, я всегда рядом**\- Remember, I am always next to you.

**Я мечтал об этом не всю свою жизнь**\- I have dreamt about this day all of my life.

**Ты всегда в моих мыслях**\- You are always in my mind.

**Мой милый ангел**-You are my little angel.

**Скажи, что любишь меня!-** Say that you love me!

**Всё чего я хочу чтобы ты стала моей женой**\- All I want, is for you to be my wife.


	11. Chapter 11

**_reviewer wanted to see a Kingdom AU of Russia and America. This is the second part. Please understand, for those of you hating Ivan, that being a King was incredibly hard and isolating. Also, there was FREQUENT infidelity. _**

**_Rated M. I do not own hetalia. _**

OoOoOo

Things between the would-be spouses did not improve. In time, it only grew worse. Ivan was often busy, and the soon-to-be Queen was frequently alone with his mother being instructed on how to behave, as well as the native tongue of her new home. She took to it all rather well.

She even found interests among the people that occupied her time. Charities and arranging for the welcoming of foreign courts. All was well. Perhaps strained and beginning to fray upon the edges, but Princess Amelia did not allow it to take away from her sunny disposition. She attempted to speak with King Ivan on more than a few occasions. When he had a moment or two to spare for her, she was content to be in his presence.

The rumors of his conquests, lovers found while waiting for his bride to become of age, had been nothing more than unfounded gossip in her eyes. Princess Amelia could bare it all with dignity and grace. Even as court ladies whispered with nearly forked tongues behind silk fans. Attempting pleasantries to gain favor with the soon to be Queen. The Princess dealt with it all with notable aplomb.

Until she met the Duchess of the court. A young and extremely buxom woman, who had taken great pleasure in informing the Princess, rather subtly, about his appetites. And just how frequently he could be found in her... company.

It was then, that the beginnings of her frail hope burned to ash. Just as her new life and position started.

When they married, King Ivan noticed his Queen acted as if she were receiving last rites and not as if she were becoming the next matriarch of his Kingdom.

It was something that amused and delighted him to no end. A spark of the young girl remained in her, despite the heavy influences of breeding and etiquette. Her silent defiance as she slipped her hand away from his. Their petty squabble as children had not been forgotten. In fact, the way she glared at him from behind her veil reminded him of their betrothal ceremony. Her hand felt cold this time, and not as warm as it had when they were younger. The King noted that she seemed angry, though he had done nothing to cause her ire.

He glanced to his left, and noted a Duchess that he knew rather intimately as she gave him a seductive glance.

Blue eyes caught the exchange with ease, and the new Queen lowered her gaze to her hands. Impotent fury welled within her. The next time he reached for her hand, she attempted to squeeze his like a vice. A clear sign of her displeasure.

The entirely of the elaborate and decadent ceremony was spent making snide remarks at one another. It started with awkward and biting conversation. The ease he had felt around her in his Prince-hood was nowhere to be found. Often she would not look at him, and when she did it was a gaze of bitter hurt. Something which perplexed the King to no end.

That was until he picked up his fork to speak a stray pea on his plate.

Queen Amelia remarked on how she had been graced with the lovely wedding gift of seeing one of his many mistresses. He nearly choked on nothing, as his violet eyes widened at her brashness. It was true that he had mistresses. Such a thing was very common, for he was a King and it was unhealthy not to release his seed regularly. He could see the accusation in her eyes, and he felt his own irritation at her lack of tack swell to the fore front.

Ivan had replied that he was in need of such women, since his Queen was as lively as the roasted pig on the table.

She gave him a false smile, overly bright and with cold eyes. Their first day together in holy matrimony turned into a quarrel and they had not even christened the bed lines yet.

Amelia had taken exception to that and commented that he must be exceedingly poor at copulating, due to the fact he required so much practice. And, from so many numerous sources...

It was likely then, that the Duchess had let slip that she was not the only woman to grace his bed. The sow. He placed his fork down, put off from his meal entirely by already having what peace he had expected, broken by her bluntness. However, he was vaguely intrigued that she would rush head long into his private matters already. Women, and wives especially, were not meant to speak out against their husbands.

Yet there was a glimmer of the girl that had frowned at his mother so long ago and he felt a bit of amusement from that.

The King of the North Kingdom hid a smile while he gave an insincere yawn. He preferred his wife to have claws of her own, and it would seem that she had never truly outgrown her ability to pick fights with things larger than herself. His violet eyes nearly glowed in delight. Her blue ones practically radiated a fiery dislike of her husband.

It was not an uncommon event in the northern kingdom, for newlyweds to clash, but the end result was always the same.

When the meal had ended, she was escorted to their bedchamber and told to ready herself for her husband. Two hours later, a bloody sheet was hung out a castle wall as proof of her innocence.

The people rejoiced.

The deflowered Queen spent her night staring off into the roaring fire of the hearth. The ghost like sensations of his skin upon hers, and the strangeness of the act convoluted her thoughts. Eventually, she laid down to rest.

King Ivan, who had left the royal bedchamber afterward, spent his evening in the arms of the Duchess's sister.

The following day, it did not escape his notice, that the entirely of the court cut her out of their good graces. And, that his Queen held her head high. A look of disappointment in her eyes, as she continued about her days.

OoOoOo

Ivan noticed that his Queen never came to his chambers.

Though, to her credit, she kept up the pretense beautifully, with his mother's excellent tutelage. Queen Amelia was always seen smiling happily, with a lovely flush to her cheeks. Many in the court were half in love with her, the others wished to be her. For clearly, it must have been a wonderful marriage. King Ivan was a doting husband, who always spared a kiss for his wife, before leaving to address political matters.

Yet, that hid the broken marriage that did not function behind closed doors. Doors that even the servants did not dare open nor gossip about. The fact that the King did not bed the Queen. For the Queen would not permit him into her chambers. Such a thing was a close to treason and sacrilege as had ever been heard of before. Why King Ivan tolerated it, no one quite knew. However, the Queen never allowed her sweet lips to voice so much as a word of it to anyone outside of her husband.

The only sign of respect she had ever given him.

She had made it very clear that she would not submit to his desires while he relieved himself with mistresses. Such a thing was preposterous. A woman had no right to deny her husband. Ivan would have laughed it off, and demanded she admit him to her chambers. Yet, his pride had been poked to the point that he sneered at her in an imperious manner, telling her that he had not want of her if it did not produce an heir.

And, that her only duty to the crown was the one that involved her on her back. Amelia had responded that it would have taken a proclamation from God to get her to submit to someone who could care so little.

Hurtful words, slung around as easily as arrows, caused a rift between them that seemed as if it would never be bridged.

For what did she know of his feelings? King Ivan would never lower himself to expressing them to his wife, a female. When he had countless advisors trying their best to keep the Kingdom from war. What would she know of war? A Queen was only meant to produce heirs to the royal bloodline, and help keep the country's coffers from running dry. Amelia had been taught, by tutors in her homeland, how to defend a castle, should it ever come under siege.

However, Ivan would never permit such a thing to occur. But he felt certain that his wife, the Queen of the Northern Kingdom would come to her senses and understand her place.

OoOoOo

One year of marriage, supposedly in the union's 'blissful' state, became three. Still, he would go through the proper procedures of making the trip to her chambers very rarely. Which was on another side of the Castle from his own. Highly inconvenient, but Ivan supposed that more often than not the past Kings had wanted little to do with their wives outside of producing heirs.

Something he was coming to understand, whenever her smile faded the times he spoke to her alone. Conveying things that were pertinent for her to know about the mercurial and backstabbing court. Her smiles still caught his attention, and the way she laughed freely with her hand maidens. Somehow, she always had others at ease and nearly carefree. Two or three treaties could have been credited to his Queen alone.

The way she was sincere and caring caused many to remain enthralled by her sweet continence.

It was unfortunate that his Queen seemed inclined to have no inclination to come to him. More than once, he had been rebuffed by her trembling and terrified hand maiden. Ivan's wolfish grin of amusement hid his anger at her attempts to humiliate him. A woman had no right to deny her husband, but if the excuse were sufficient enough he was lenient enough to release her from her marital obligations.

However, time was causing them to spin in circles. King Ivan did find his wife desirable, and Queen Amelia ached for the day that she would be held in her husband's loving embrace. Not the nights that she allowed herself to be mounted by a man that clearly could care less if she lived or died. Because, the rooms had begun that something was wrong with her. So long, for a loving and doting pair to be without a child?

A vicious tidbit of gossip that could lead to her removal, were she not careful.

So Amelia allowed him to come three nights each month, trying for an heir that might fill her lonely and sad days.

They continued in this uneasy pattern. The Queen was withdrawn and bitter. The King was no better off. His wife did not adore him the way his mistresses did. Empty promises did not placate her, and Amelia always seemed _disappointed_ in him or sad when he spent time with her. She did not seek his touch out, nor call out his name in the throes of passion.

He could scarcely recall the last time they had been intimate.

Yet, he was hounded for an heir. They had been married three years without even the inkling of her carrying, and whispers had begun that Queen Amelia was... barren. Cursed by the almighty lord and unable to do her sovereign duty to the King.

Ivan ignored such things, rebuking his advisors on a weekly occasion. For they urged him to sire children with his mistresses, something the King was exceedingly careful not to do. He had resigned himself to putting everything on fate, and hoping that his wife would mellow with age.

Until the day he was wounded in battle.

He had donned his armor. Ready to lead his men against the bastard demon-spawn of the Southern Kingdom. His men had been invigorated by his presence and had fought all the harder for it. Yet, in spite of that, he had been forced to give the order for reinforcements. Which had not come quite in time.

A stray spear pierced his side. King Ivan grit his teeth against the onslaught of the mind-numbing pain. He ordered his men to fight to their last breath. As their King, he would do no less himself. He had been certain, that he would walk with death that day to be judged for his sins and deeds. However, instead of the whispers of unearthly beings, he heard the bugle of a horn in the distance.

The clanking of armor echoed in his ears as he slipped in and out of consciousness, warm blood pooled around him. His violet eyes blinked up at the vast blue sky, and the image of Amelia's sad gaze flashed across his thoughts. He found a pang of regret echoed in his chest at her sadness. He had wanted things between them to be better than they were.

He had always... wanted to see her laughing like she had with everyone else. King Ivan had wanted her affection, though he knew that circumstances had made that path nearly impossible as it was. But, he had hoped, that one day, she would smile at him with a bouncing baby boy on her knee.

He had enjoyed her company once. At a banquet in their honor as she was covered with spots. His lips twitched with amusement, even as he lay bleeding upon the ground. Tainting the grass with his life's essence. The soft scent of her hair as if framed the pillow, he could recall every time her scent had bathed his skin. The smooth feel of her skin beneath his hand in the darkness of the bedchamber. Candles that were never lit because he did not wish to see...

Her look away from him.

The man in him could recall in perfect detail the sounds and gasps she made when she would submit to his touches. All too infrequent. So many missed chances. So many unhappy days. God, how he wished they could have been pleased with each other. Like they had been as children, when the weight of the world was not constantly on his shoulders and Amelia had been full of innocent kindness.

His thoughts became murky and clouded as he tumbled through memories. The gasp that left her lips, as he pressed himself inside her. The feel of her lips against his as they kissed.

Far too few in number.

He blinked, and motion flickered above him.

A halo of golden locks, glimmered under the steady rays of the sun. The shade of blue he knew so well, which normally showed disgust or anger, were wide with fear and sorrow. There were tears, glistening in her eyes.

The eyes of his Queen, as she knelt next to him on the blood-spattered field. But that was impossible. She would never have ridden into battle. Though the sounds of fighting seemed far off now. Had his men managed to push them back? However, even were such a miraculous occurrence possible, how did his Queen end up here?

No. Impossible. She would never come for him. Not as their marriage had been.

Was this... was he dead?

Alas, he was not. The fiery glow of pain in his body, alluded to still being amongst the living. And, such an Angel would never be trapped in hell.

This was no illusion then.

"My Lord," she whispered with her voice cracking at the edges. "stay with me."

She had come? He could hear the sounds of her breathing harshly, her cheek was stained crimson but not by him. She was panting and out of breath. A horse let out a grunt of exertion. Armor and clashing swords, the prominent noises of battle filled his senses. The coppery scent of blood in the air and the fiery pain in his side caught his attention. He wanted to speak, and with words he wished to tell his Queen that he was sorry for how things had soured between them.

As a King he had strove so hard for the people that he had fallen into dangers of the court. Willing women and intrigue.

"You cannot leave me. Ivan!" She cried out as she clutched him to her, shaking him gently.

The lids of his eyes felt so heavy. As if in a dream state, he closed them to the muffled notes of his wife's weeping.

She cried, for him?

Such a kindness, he had never thought possible between them.

OoOoOo

He hovered between life and death.

Every time he opened his eyes, and felt the burning pain that peppered his side, he would glimpse his Queen watching him with a look of concern.

Concern and _care, _affection even_,_ that he had never thought possible between them. Yet, she wiped his brow and whispered words of encouragement. Her fingers gently traced his cheek, and had he possessed the strength, he would have leaned into them. Once or twice, as he slipped into unconsciousness, he would have sworn that there were tears glistening in her eyes.

'_Do not cry,'_ he thought. Never had he seen her cry and it frightened him so, to watch her weep. The lost expression on her face that suggested she did not know how to live without him.

Was her anger? Had it really all been sadness? Loneliness? Like his. When he had sought comfort and praise from the only source he was somewhat certain would not stab him in the back. The mistresses he had clung to that had been easier than going to his wife.

A wife, well... she was forever.

By the time he was well enough, Queen Amelia had been very busy without him. She had managed to secure their borders, and even defend one of the main strongholds from a siege. He had listened to the report with a great deal of both fury and pride. The Southern Kingdom's forces had tried very hard to exterminate everything having to do with the Northern Kingdom.

It was Amelia who had written her Brother, still King of the West and with three strong sons of his own, to tell of King Ivan's wounds and the enemy threat. The Northern King would never again internally mock Arthur Kirkland. For he had descended upon the forces from the rear like an avenging Angel, as Queen Amelia had fought like a demon from the front.

It had given Ivan much to ponder over. His Queen had quickly stepped down from her fighting and had his advisors flock to him as soon as he was strong enough. The threat remained very large, and extremely close. However, for weeks and then months, there was little to do but strategize over war maps in brightly lit rooms that burned more candles than even the Churches.

Perhaps, they would have remained strangers, The Queen and he. Until, one dark and quiet night, with his eyes strained from pouring over missives and scouting reports, he was interrupted.

The gentle knocking on his chamber door, caused Ivan to glance up from the recent reports of battle. He waived a hand and his servant leapt into action. The door creaked slightly as it was opened, and there was a muffled exchange of words. A surprised gasp that was not quite smothered properly, and the door closed softly.

His servant turned toward him, the features of the older man were schooled into a blank mask.

"Sire?"

"Yes?"

"It is the Queen."

The King blinked, and stared at the servant with a semi-confused expression. "Which Queen?"

Had the Eastern Queen come to visit? At this hour?

The servant cleared his throat, and had the grace to look slightly mortified on the King's behalf.

"Your Queen... Sire." He said respectfully as he bowed his head.

Ivan felt his chest constrict with surprise and some other emotion. He stoically nodded for the servant to open the door once more. And, indeed, his Queen stood tall and looked at him. Her hair was down, and he noticed that it was longer than it had been the last time he had seen it. She was covered in a robe, but it suggested she was in a state of undress. It was more than a bit scandals for her to be here.

However, she deserved his ear to listen, if she had need of him. He waved the servant away. The man's eyes widened for a moment, before he bowed and left the room, waiting until the Queen was inside to close the door behind him.

King Ivan stared at her, waiting patiently.

"I have heard," Amelia said shyly, her nearly bare feet moved across the floor. Closer to Ivan, not away. "That you have not called for a mistress in well over a fortnight. Is this... true?"

There was a bittersweet sort of _hope_ to her words. They were so gently expectant, as if he were about to tell her something that mattered more than the Kingdom itself.

"You keep a record of whom I take to my bed?" He asked, unable to contain the curiosity that gripped him. He had always been aware that she found out who his mistress was for the month, or the evening as was sometimes the case.

A fact which he had begun to regret, in the recent events.

Amelia flushed slightly, looking away, but she nodded slowly. It surprised him that she would admit it so boldly.

"A wife does know, Sire. When her husband is being... entertained."

His violet eyes appraised her, torn between amusement and a bit of embarrassment.

"And what of a husband?" He asked, as he set down a sheet of vellum with great care and rose from his chair. His Queen did not move away, but her eyes glanced at him with confusion.

"Does a husband know," he clarified as he strode across the room, toward where she stood. "If a wife is being... _entertained_?"

Shock, hurt, and disappointment shone in her pretty eyes, and it told King Ivan all he needed to truly know.

"I have found nothing to be entertained by," she bit out frostily, "in our marriage. Although you have been unfaithful to me. I have never been unfaithful to you."

How she made it sound! As if he were the only one to ever seek comfort in another. However, at the same time, he smiled softly at that. Even in her loneliness and unhappiness, she had never strayed to another man. Such things were not supposed to occur with the fairer sex, but Ivan had been lover to a few.

He watched her quietly as the hope from before seemed to disintegrate before his very eyes.

"I should not have come, please excuse my interrupt-"

"Do you believe most men are faithful?" He asked, as she tried to leave. His words were not cruel but truly curious. He knew very little of his Queen. Something he had come to realize as they moved separate from each other.

A bitter smile, filled with crushed dreams and sorrowful rejection appeared on her face. His Queen turned toward him, her eyes moist with tears. It struck him again, how he had never truly seen her cry. But, he wondered now, how often tears had been shed because of him. Because of the life she had been married off into for the sake of peace.

"I think," she said with a wisp of deep longing in her words, "that the men who remain faithful. Why, they must truly _love_ their wives."

She gave a discouraged and brittle laugh.

"What fortunate women, they must be, My King."

A fissure of pain lodged in his chest, as Ivan truly looked at his Queen. She seemed sad most of the time, when they were away from prying eyes. Lonely. Forgotten. Neglected and wilted. Like a flower that was uncared for or weeds that were unwanted.

Shame.

Shame was something the King of the Northern Kingdom was very unaccustomed to. However, he felt it now.

"Why did you come here, this evening, My Queen?" He asked, in a voice laden with emotions he dared not show nor ponder.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her cheeks tinted red.

"I had told you, Sire, that when you had no mistresses, that I would... I would..."

Violet eyes widened, and understanding dawned in his gaze. Her nearly indecent state of dress. The fact she had come to his chambers. The first time in their marriage that she had ever done so. He swallowed, with his throat feeling dry and tight.

"Ah."

He strode forward, noting the way the candle light seemed to dance enticingly on her face, and kissed her forehead. His Queen trembled, and said nothing.

Could there be more than political achievement in their match? Was there, perchance, a modicum of happiness or contentment to be found? King Ivan did not know, but he swept his wife up in his arms, and for once, he hoped there could be more between them.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Thank you dear reviewers. :) Yay Russians and Russia! No offense intended whatsoever._**

**_Baby bug and dance request._**

**_Enjoy. I own nothing. This is to include Hetalia and characters contained herein. Thank you!_**

OoOoOo

They had a complicated 'relationship', according to them and the rest of the world.

America waited until she got the all clear to single Russia out to...

Well, hopefully, he would agree to having a kid with her. America didn't care about the relations part of it, politically speaking, however she had always been drawn toward the larger nation since she was colony.

So, it still took a great deal of courage to stand in front of him and after making small talk to ask the question that had been on her mind for weeks now.

"Will you have a child with me?"

Russia paused. He blinked. Then he started to laugh. A laugh so loud that it shook the windows of the room. At first it was a chuckle, but then it bloomed into full blown belly laughs. He clutched at his sides while tears streamed down his face.

The Star-spangled nation did not find it funny at all.

America's features flushed with embarrassment and anger. Honestly. 'No, thank you' would have been more than sufficient.

However, the longer Russia continued to indulge in his mirth, the angrier America became. Until, at last, she could suffer in quiet dignity no longer. A look of near-loathing shimmered in the blue depths of her eyes.

"I get the point, you jack ass." She hissed as she stalked out of the room.

Something about her tone caused him to stop laughing. In fact, Russia nearly entertained the idea that she was _serious._ Just by the way she looked at him with the same expression. The one he was not overly fond of creating on her overly-prideful face.

_The look of wounded pride that danced upon her face, seemed so off putting. One he had glimpsed by the very first light bulbs in his home. The relations between them had deteriorated so far that -_

No, it was best not to dwell upon it. America was up to her usual tricks of...

Russia froze, mid-convincing. America never would have crossed the line about joking with children. He had seen her get worked up about it all before. And, to him, children were a point of pride. Though Russia did not have...

And... neither did America...

With a loud curse, he shot up from the table and threw on his coat, reaching for the door. His keys jangled in his pocket loudly.

OoOoOo

He had called for some help in stopping America at the airport. Unfortunately, it had not arrived in enough time to keep her from boarding the plane.

At first the pilot and co-pilot had been very worried, and the word 'attack' had been bandied about too easily. However, as Russia waited patiently, with his troops and a radio to communicate with the aircraft. He had already gotten the chance to silence the Air traffic control on this specific flight and he was not going anywhere until this was all settled.

As well as hassle America. But only a little bit. There were some small things in life that Russia simply refused to do without.

"Sir?" A man from his right asked.

Russia nodded, indicating that he was listening.

"The men have picked up a woman insulting our Country over the-"

"Is it a woman?" Russia asked with hidden amusement.

The soldier looked vaguely surprised at his question, before returning to a neutral expression.

"Yes, Sir."

The personification walked toward the radio transmitter, and glanced at the soldier operating it.

"Ask if it is 'Jones'." He commanded.

His question was relayed, and the blonde soldier's eyes widened at he listened ot his headphones.

"What did she say?"

"She said...'That depends, is this the jackass?'."

Hm. She was still upset.

"Many women find me charming." He said with an air of confidence.

It was repeated, and not even seconds later a response was given.

"She says that you must pay them extremely well,"

Some of his men snickered at that one, and tried to hide it.

"Tell her if she does not come out," the violet-eyed man said, "that I will blow up the airplane."

Multiple sets of eyes widened. No one dared to whisper or say a word. The men seemed taken aback by his order. One man moved to attempt to speak with the embodiment of the nation, however Russia held up his hand to stop any such nonsense.

"Relay the message," Russia intoned with authority and boredom. His gaze pierced through the soldier operating the communications.

The young soldier glanced at him nervously before doing so. His adam's apple bobbed as he licked his dry lips. Perspiration dotted his brow as his gaze shifted downward toward his hands.

"Well?" the nation asked after a few moments. His face showing that he was slightly impatient.

"She is just... she is..."

"What?"

"She's just laughing, Sir." The soldier said in a rush, cringing away from the likely impending wrath of his superior. His eyes flicked away.

"And...," the soldier continued hesitantly.

"And?" Russia repeated with a brow raised in question.

"She just said two more words."

"Which were?"

"I really don't think I should repeat them, Sir."

Russia just grinned. There were times that America really made it very hard for him to dislike her.

OoOoOo

America turned toward the pilot, who was gazing at her with a slack jaw and terrified eyes. Her reply hadn't exactly been lady-like, but at the moment she did not care. No one understood the crap Russia gave her, and she wasn't precisely over being pissed at him for what happened earlier.

Stupid crazy former-Soviet bastard.

Handsome bastard, though, but she wasn't going to mention that part.

Her blue eyes caught the pilot and co-pilots .

"What?" She asked with a shrug. "He's not really going to do it."

The humans did not seem to certain.

"Oh come on," America reasoned with exasperation, "there are Russian civilians on board this aircraft, he is not going to just blow them up to get at me."

"Miss," the pilot said in a near whisper, "maybe you ought to think about just going out and settling this off of the plane."

America pouted. "Relax, I've known this guy for a long time."

"But, Miss, like I said, maybe this is a thing that should be settled _off _of the plane."

Her blue eyes scanned over the ashen faces and wide eyes.

"Calm down, he's not going to do it."

Her words were punctuated by the all too familiar sound of a tank rolling onto the runway. America blinked as she stared at the tank that moved to aim for the aircraft. The turret rotated and the barrel pointed the muzzle directly at the cockpit.

Absolute silence reigned in the confined space.

"Huh." America mused with a slight smile of disbelief combined with 'holy shit'. "I guess he's really going to do it."

OoOoOo

The larger nation watched the plane with clear amusement swirling in his violet eyes.

"Ask her if she is ready to come out now." He said, without looking at the young soldier that nearly jumped out of his skin to follow the order.

"Yes, Sir!"

HIs voice was slightly high as he relayed the question to the plane. He waited for a moment before flushing to the roots of his hair.

Russia waited patiently.

"She says that no, she will not leave the plane, and as to your tank... she's seen bigger."

The amusement Russia felt moments ago slipped away, and he narrowed his eyes at the plane cockpit, as if he could physically see America there.

Well, there was no need to get rude about all this. It was a simple misunderstanding. Women were so _impossible _sometimes.

"Reminder her it is not the size, but how you use it." He said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "And that she has to the count of ten to get out here _now."_

"Yes, Sir," the now-miserable soldier responded. He did not truly want any part of this, and were they really going to blow up a civilian aircraft? Please, let it not be so.

He relayed the message, waiting with bated breath himself, as to the outcome of this standoff. He had not realized that American women could be so... stubborn. He listened intently, wiping the sweat off of his upper lip, as he swallowed heavily.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" Russia rumbled without bothering to glance the soldier's way.

"She... she wants to know... how many times," the soldier flushed to the roots of his hair, "you've had to tell yourself that before."

Enough was enough.

"ONE!" Russia called out in flawless English. Passengers banged at the windows, trying to plead for mercy.

"Two!"

"Three!"

Was, she really not going to come out? Hm. Perhaps some of the rumors of America being slightly crazy were absolutely correct. Russia would not be deterred from his original course of action. Nyet. America would surely come out.

"Four!"

"Fiv-"

Russia was just about to give the next number, when the first passenger entry door popped open. His violet eyes noted the one finger salute that America gave him as she stiffly glared at him from the entry way.

"Go away and let me go home." She said, with a frown. Her voice carried over the distance between them.

Russia shook his head.

"I think we should talk." He called back.

America jumped out of the door without warning, several people gasped, but she was unharmed. Russia waited patiently as the star-spangled nation walked toward him without fear. Her blue eyes promised some form of pain that would likely violate the Geneva Convention.

"I have nothing to say."

"Now that is a first!"

"I hate you."

"Not enough, if you want me to give you a child." He retorted matter-of-factly.

Every set of human eyes widened. America's jaw slackened as she blushed. A rather comical stutter appeared at his blunt words.

"D-d-d-d-dammit you jackass! T-t-that was private!"

He nodded thoughtfully and grinned.

"And now it is not"

Her mouth pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

"Ya think?" she hissed out in something close to rage.

"Is that rhetorical, or are you really that dense?" Russia quirked with a smirk.

America glared at him heatedly.

"I changed my mind. I don't want a child with you."

"Oh really?"

"That's right. I am choosing someone else."

A dangerous glint entered Russia's eyes. The soldiers present shared an equal feeling of unease, though they did not show it.

"Da? Who?"

"None of your damn business." America replied, with a decidedly large amount of heat to her words.

He leveled a look at her that spoke volumes.

"It is my business if someone is going to try and impregnate my woman."

"I am not your anything."

"You will be."

America glared at him, her eyes looked him up and down, judging if he was serious. She could not believe his audacity. First he made fun of her by laughing at a sincere offer, then he got a bee in his bonnet over her choosing someone else! What was this personification? Men were _impossible!_

She crossed her arms and glanced to the side.

"Forget it. I'm choosing Germany."

Russia's eyes narrowed into violet slits.

"Germany?"

America tilted her nose in the air a bit, trying to be as haughty as some of the European nations when they spoke to her.

"Yes, Germany." She looked at him directly, her blue eyes clouded behind Texas. "He's just as respectable as you. He had good commerce sense. Our relations are better."

Russia surprised her by holding out his hand. America blinked and stared at him as if he had lost what little sanity she was actually certain he possessed. After a heart beat or two of silence, her curiosity got the best of her.

"What? Why are you doing that?" She asked, slightly cross at the situation and Russia himself.

"Dance with me." He commanded with an imperious tone.

One America knew very well. Her spine stiffened, and the casual posture she had adopted these last few decades dropped away as she stood tall before him. Her blue eyes seemed impossibly wide with surprised understanding.

"What?" She asked, her voice much softer now.

His violet eyes warred with hers, an unspoken request for her to trust him was buried in their depths. America swallowed quickly.

"Dance with me." He repeated firmly. "If you feel _nothing_ between us anymore, then go to Germany."

Her lips parted, a silent gasp passed between. Her expression turned from doubtful and understanding to accepting.

"One dance," America replied in perfectly enunciated syllables.

"I only need the one."

Her hand slipped into his. Just like it had, nearly countless times before. Just as it had the first time.

_The woman, so young and new, was staring with a slightly nervous expression at the large nation in front of her. _

_The United States of America. That was her name. A name that was as new to her as it was to all the other nations present. _

_She was out of place, in her simple, yet sturdy, hand-made gown. Instead of the silks and taffeta of Europe, she was clad in a sturdy combination of linen and wool. Her golden hair was covered with a stark white cap. It was rumored that her people considered it vain or conceited to go without a cap upon a woman's head in high society at the moment._

_America's people had generously given her the material so that she could make it herself. She had even purchased it from Benjamin Franklin's trade store. His eyes had twinkled behind his spectacles, and America thought it was a fitting expression. She secretly hoped to possess a pair of her own one day. Yet it was not her place to know the future._

_For all the elegance and beauty she saw about her, America was simply content to be recognized. However, her contrast to the finer colors and richer countries was obvious. The sneers of distaste at her appearance did not go unnoticed. _

_She smoothed down the skirt of the gown. Even her long gloves were not as fine as the European nations. There was no way to calm her frazzled nerves. She felt foolish for even attending when yet another nation turned up their nose in distaste._

_Suddenly, her line of sight was blocked by a tall and handsome male. One The United States actually knew fairly decently. His violet eyes seemed to warm with the glow of the candlelight. _

_Russia smiled at her, and The United States of America relaxed slightly. He outstretched his hand toward her. An unspoken request for her to place her hand in his. With barely a tremble she took the larger country's offered hand with a demure nod of her head. She walked past him as she was led to the area where others had gathered as the music floated about in the air. _

_The ballroom had seemed much to large and the dim of conversations had seemed as loud as thunder. Until Russia and the new female nation started to dance._ _It was a Baroque dance for the nobility. The upper class. A type of social dance that was done by one couple at a time, with all the other guests around the sides of the room. The people of the highest rank sat at one end of the room, and the couple that danced directed it toward the highest members. _

_America glanced at Russia one, before the newest song began and others parted to allow them room._

_Seemingly countless eyes struggled not to watch the pair in awe. America could barely breathe properly as she felt the powerful magnetism of his presence around her and in front of her. It surprised her that she appeared to have an effect on him as well. He, who was far more powerful and established than she was. _

_They moved together in nearly perfect time. As their hands interlocked and they turned around one another, every nation could see the reaction between them. As if they were meant to gravitate toward the other._

_They danced, alternating turns with slight hops. The new nation hid her face coyly behind a fan, as was common. Her blue eyes staring into Russia's violet ones. It almost looked as if they were unable to glance away. _

_There was a nearly tangible attraction between them. It bordered on indecent by the smoldering expression on Russia's face. _

_The drew closer. Circled. Parted. It was beautiful to behold. When they came back toward one another, hands clasping, it was as if the known world was watching the Allemande for what it truly was. A dance that of flirtation and desire. Hands touching, grasping, and holding. No longer two nations kept as a polite distance. _

_America sported a delicate blush on her cheeks and the look of interest in Russia's gaze grew as he gently kissed her hand when the dance finished. _

This dance between them was different than it had been so very long ago. America's body was next to Russia's. She could scarcely draw a breath. The same reaction she always had when she allowed him to lead her upon the dance floor. Be it wood, marble, tile, or the asphalt of the airport runway.

The first time they danced the Quadrille, had been in England's lands. In a small...

_Country dance._

_America was fascinated by it. She was also frightfully concerned over being upon England's soils given their unfortunate parting. Had he only listened to reason! No, it was far to late to ponder the outcomes of what might have occurred. _

_Now, at least, many countries knew of the United States of America. Though some referred to her in tones and by names that were less than satisfactory or respectful. However, she held her head high and kept up her best possible attitude. Her appearance this time, was slightly more in line with the luxurious fabrics and furs that other nations possessed._

_She had one dance with Scotland already. A lively one that had left her nearly out of breath as he fought to keep his composure when she missed a step and managed to trod over his toes. _

_Yet, it was Russia that drew toward her again, an amused grin on his lips. America's lips mimicked his expression nearly perfectly as, without words, he held out his hand to her. America inclined her head once more, a soft blush on her features as she slipped her smaller hand into his. _

_His skin was warm, so much so, that she felt it through her gloves, and America took the chance to look around the room as partners began getting into the proper formations. However, America could not take her eyes off of the larger nation. _

_Even though the dance was a wide variety of rapid, skimming, and skipping steps, America felt as if she was never far from Russia's side._

_And, that... pleased her._

Now as he spun her about, with only the sound of airplanes taking off and the roar of engines as their music, America felt her heart beat wildly in her chest. Russia had not changed so greatly from the last time they had done this.

Yet, so much had changed between them politically speaking, that America had considered herself nearly loony for thinking of Russia to have a child with. However, the way he held her as they moved in perfect unison was both tender and possessing of the strength they both knew he was capable of.

The Waltz.

Now that made her smile, with fond memories. Though originally a peasants dance, it had made its way to the higher ranks of society. Russia had... Russia and she had always danced the waltz at least once, at diplomatic functions. It was rather an apt comparison to them.

Though they looked close, nearly romantically bound, it was a dance of disciplined moves and maintaining a specific distance between each other. America was so tired of distance at the moment.

As Russia lifted her off the ground, America smiled widely, remembering the first time he had done so, she thought he had been about to throw her. Her feet touched the ground, and he twirled her again. Russia was behind her, in front of her, behind her once more. Their hands grasped tightly together, for the first time it was skin upon skin.

It made the dance seem far more intimate, as it had the very first time he had led her through the dance. He spun her outward, and America then twirled back in toward him.

The soldier witnessing it, and the people still trapped on the airplane because they were not permitted to leave, watched. All of the humans were purely enchanted by the display. There was something nearly inhuman and compelling about watching them dance with each other.

Finally, Russia pulled her close and gave her one last twirl before capturing America in his arms. An embrace, instead of parting.

Silence reigned, right before the people broke out into clapping and cheers. America blinked suddenly moist eyes, willing herself not to cry. She whispered the words, ones that only Russia could hear.

"Alright. You win. I do feel something."

"As do I," He replied with frank honesty.

America pulled back and stared at him, with a gentle sort of shyness.

"Will you have a child with me?" She asked, repeating the words that had started this whole fiasco.

This time, instead of laughing, Russia smiled widely.

"Da."

And, as their lips met in their first kiss, the pilot begged the Russian Armed Forces to clear him for takeoff.


	13. Chapter 13

**_This author claims no rights to the characters borrowed for this fan fiction. Just so we are clear. Author does not condone rape, coercion, use of force, or abuse against males or females. Also, please be responsible during consensual sex. _**

**_Thank you for your reviews! I am glad you like it! We have had another request_** **_Kiraxsammforever_****_..._**

_"__Ms. Libramoon. I just love your rusame stories so much. Can I please request for your 13th chapter a story about world war III. It could be during or after ww3 just as long as Russia wins and America is his war prize please?  
I like to see Ivan and Amelia together.  
Thank you."_

**Okay!**

**_I own nothing. Rated M. Author warns for explicit content. Not meant to offend anyone. Russia we love you! _**

OoOoOo

She was dogging bits of earth as it exploded all around her, America blinked back tears that formed as bits of debris logged in the corner of her eyes. Dirt and sand nearly blinded her, but she continued on, trying to get out of the line of fire.

There had once been a time, where she swore to herself that she would be the watchdog of the world, so that another world war would _never_ decimate the populations and scar the world again. She had failed. The bitter irony of it trickled in her thoughts that were not occupied already with the countless victims of this pointless slaughter.

That is what it was. Slaughter. Human beings had gotten so very, very adept at killing each other. So much so, that now troops were not even truly needed on the ground to eradicate an unwanted platoon or squadron.

She turned, hearing the whirr of something over head, and bolted into the nearby tree line. It would do no good, he was going to find her. It was only a matter of time. America took a ragged breath, swiping at her eyes, trying to keep the tears and blood from streaming down her cheeks.

Her people. She could hear them screaming, pleading, and praying for help. Some form of help. It had come, and gone. The weapons that had supplied her brave men and women were dwindling now. Troops were run ragged, supply lines had been cut. The M.A.S.H. units were overwhelmed and some had been outright captured.

America knew he was gunning for her. It had happened so... so... _stupidly._ A clash in politics was nothing new, but a country with hostile ties to Russia had called upon America for assistance. Assistance she had readily promised when they signed treaties of peace with the U.S.

Therefore, she'd called out a display of strength, hoping to ward off unnecessary conflict. In open mocking for her power, Russia had invaded the very next day. He took out three naval carriers and an American occupied sector. 15,000 troops in all were lost.

Her people were furious, nearly murderous in their howling rage and sorrow. Their deafening cries rang in America's ears and she refused to back down from what he had done. Without knowing what to make of it, America had geared for war in mass.

A blanket draft had run both countries. However, Russia already had a draft in place. He had more trained personnel than America, who had scrambled to train young men and women to face death openly. For defense of home, family, and country. Many had defected to both Canada and Mexico. She was sickened by the draft dodgers, knowing that this was not some petty conflict.

This was the beginning of the end, and somewhere deep inside of her heart, America knew it the moment it happened.

The world was in an uproar. Lines were being drawn in the sand, and sides were chosen. America called on treaties as did Russia. Russia secured China, America had Israel. Both fearsome in their own rights. However, Canada was a house divided. He had political ties with both nations, and refused to chose a side.

America stared at him with a pale face and horrified eyes as he turned her away. She turned to her other allies, hoping to rebound. Only a few loyal ones helped her. South Korea joined her, but North Korea happily sided with Russia. The Nordics remained in neutral territory, not wanting a repeat of the carnage of the last war.

Romania offered aid to America, while Estonia quickly adapted to follow Russia as he reclaimed his former USSR glory days. Hungary was assimilated with China's assistance but not without one hell of a fight. America had tried to help her, even though she scarcely had anything to give. However, food and medicine were spared to help Hungary's people.

All those fleeing Russian occupation and rule were allowed upon American soil. And, there were _millions._ However, her people grew distrustful of the immigrating peoples. Petty arguments evolved into open animosity and near hysteria. The war effort had started to take its toll.

Russia managed to get a key foot hold by taking over Japan, and forcing Canada to allow him peace-time occupation. Though Canada had no wish for it, it was granted as Russia was growing more powerful every day. Those loyal to China, or at least afraid of China, joined under the new banner.

America watched the shadow of their destruction as it reached her shores. Her people fought like cornered dogs. Vicious, and deadly. They took down as many in the ranks of the enemy, if not more, than were taken.

However, it was not enough. Agents infiltrated her government branches and helped weaken her from the inside. Twice, the acting President was assassinated, and it shook her nation to its core.

Through this all, Russia taunted her. He sent her flowers and chocolates as her people waited for hours in ration lines. She would have tossed the food in the garbage, but she shared it with those directly near her. Their worn faces and frightened eyes did not know how to voice the tangible fear.

Yet, America heard them all the same. The tiny voices, to the eldest, praying for her. '_God Save America. God Bless America.'_ She would never forget the deepest desires of her people as they flooded her awareness.

Russia sent her poems, ones solely in Russian that America used as kindling when the fuel lines were interrupted and her people started to suffer from the chilly reach of winter. She snarled angrily as the packages kept appearing, no matter where she was. It frightened her as much as it infuriated her.

The next was a drawing, of America herself. Filled in with watercolors. She was laughing happily as if she were beckoning someone to her side. Her blue eyes were not behind Texas, for it was nowhere to be seen. The background was St. Petersburg.

She did not have to be a genius to understand the message he was sending. He was courting her, the sick bastard, because he was coming for her. She tore the picture in two, and spat on it for good measure.

Why he would want her, America had no damn idea. She'd often spoke with Hungary about her time in the USSR, and the lovely woman had never said anything about Russia acting like this. As if he thought they could be lovers instead of bitter enemies.

When sickness abounded in her lands, due to the mounting problems as her soldiers needed aid overseas, the hospitals were out of antibiotics and her industry was struggling to keep up with the orders. She was short on everything.

That week, Russia sent her a bottle of expensive perfume. He sent her luxuries as she was just struggling by. She dumped the liquid out for a cooking fire for the White House staff, and kept the bottle. Why, she didn't know. It could be useful for something later.

When at last, he invaded her lands, it was as painful as she imagined it would be. His troops were everywhere as she scrambled to recall units. Far too late. He had managed to wipe out approximately 70% of her troops overseas, and had assumed the sent equipment. All while keeping up ghost lines to report that all was well.

Now all she could do was to help her people as best as she could. America strove to keep their fighting spirit alive despite the obstacles. Her presence did invigorate them, but it was not enough. All the other countries fighting with Russia had overwhelmed her defenses and America...

Was running for her life, urging the stragglers of her people in front of her. Whole cities were captured as others were laid siege against. She had lost contact with others. Generals, senators, Admiralty, and her own President. America had no idea where they were, and that was for the best.

If Russia captured her, he would torture her for information, she was sure of it.

However, she could not flee to Canada or Mexico. Mexico was part of Russia's forces, and Canada would only be drawn into the danger if he tried to help her. Even the neutral countries would not offer provide America with save haven.

And, the saddest part, was that she wholly understood why. They did not want to endure what her people had.

America managed to slip past a Russian border patrol around the Virginia state line. Her blonde hair was dirty and Texas had cracked at some point. She tried not to think about it. America split off from the refugees to keep moving toward the west.

There was a chance she might be able to make it to NORAD. Russia would have to dig her boys out like ticks. It would take a long time and cost him heavily. Just how she wanted it.

But she never got that far. America only managed to get to Kansas. Thirty miles outside of Colorado, she was caught. She had been unable to sit idly by while her people were abused by the 'border patrol'.

She knew, as she charged out from the field, that she would not escape. However, she was going to at least land a few attacks.

America did, wrenching the weapon away from a guard and causing a tense standoff. It allowed just enough time for her people to escape. Good Americans, all. Yet, her disturbance drew more unwanted attention than she could have planned.

After they confiscated the weapon, she was taken to a holding area of what had once been a base of hers. It was China that entered through the door, much to America's dismay.

"What a pity," America said with a 'go fuck yourself' grin. "You're still around."

China snorted without amusement.

"I could say the same of you."

"I am surprised you can say anything at all. I thought you'd be too busy sucking Russia's dick."

The eastern nation flushed with rage and reached out to slap her harshly across the face.

"Aww," America cooed at him as she spat out some blood that trickled from her mouth."You mad bro?"

"Shut your mouth. It is not me Russia wants." He glared at her with murderous brown eyes.

America shifted and tilted her head as she smiled widely at China.

"You want him?"

China did not reply.

"You can have him," America said as she moved to stand. "Go ahead, make me an offer."

"Western whore," China sneered at her. "Always thinking of a deal."

America was about to retort, to launch one last desperate attack against his smug face, just as she pulled back her arm to deliver the blow, someone caught her arm and held it back. America gasped, she craned her neck to stare into the violet eyes she had grown to despise. Her mouth parted in mute shock.

"Now, now," Russia interrupted with a deep voice that sent shivers up her spine. "Whore seems unfair. Amerika has never been conquered _before._ But it has been a while since you were owned, hasn't it?_"_

His gaze locked with hers, the implication passed between them with both parties understanding the meaning. She said nothing.

China huffed indignantly, as Russia seemed to come to her defense. However, America changed her target and went to aim for Russia. He allow her to hit him. America's blue eyes widened as her hardest punch did not even seem to register. His smile only grew.

"Isn't that correct, America?"

"Go to hell," she hissed with her features twisted in defiance. "This isn't over."

Empty words, filled with false bravado. Something that caused Russia to laugh with wry amusement at her predicament.

"Oh, but it very much is _over_, Amerika."

His hand reached up and touched her cheek gently, almost like a lover's caress. America turned her head to try and nip at his fingers. She expected him to slap her, perhaps. However, Russia retrieved something from his pocket, and pressed it into her free hand.

America glanced at it, the cold metal twinkled up at her. He'd given her a gold bracelet, with a small diamond on the clasp. She looked at it in disbelief. What the hell was he doing? What was he playing at?

She was ready to toss it back in his face, snarl at him and claw his eyes out. However, she felt the shift as Russia continued to hold her. Her figurehead was surrendering to the Russian Federation. No. God, No!

America's mouth parted in a horrified need to scream her denial to the heavens, but the realization that she was no longer free was too much. The world tinged into darkness as she began to collapse into unconsciousness.

She was only barely aware of strong hands cradling her close.

"My little Amerika," Russia whispered in her ear, "how hard you fought. Rest now."

"You have what you wanted," China reminded him with cold eyes.

Russia merely grinned as he laid America gently down. He took of his coat, and laid it over her tenderly.

"Da, I do."

China glanced at her ruefully. "She should have given up over a year ago," he commented nearly flippantly.

Russia nodded sagely.

"She would have saved herself some grief, that is true."

"Why didn't she?"

At the question, Russia appeared rather proud of the unconscious female nation. His white teeth flashed, showing his amusement at the memories of how furious she had been over his gifts and attention.

"Because she is Amerika. Stubborn to a fault."

"Then why do you want her?" The other nation intoned with a bit of mystery to his words.

The largest nations violet eyes speared China with an unforgiving look.

"Because she is _mine_."

OoOoOo

When America awoke, she was far from her home, and completely cut off from all she knew. The golden bracelet was on her wrist, and she could not force it off. No matter how hard she tried. Shame and anger were easy things for her to understand, and she felt them both in equal measure.

She noticed it right away. The thick chain around her neck. The one that kept her from leaving the room, for it was bolted to the floor, and it reminded her far too much of being treated like a dog. That she was pet now and it made her skin itch uncomfortably.

"You are awake? Good," Russia's floated through the room. America stilled and glanced around. She saw the speaker system as well as the red light of the surveillance cameras. They caught her every move. She was being watched in nearly every direction.

She flipped him the bird and stared directly into the nearest one.

"I am glad you are in such fighting spirits, we have company coming. They were simply delighted to know that you are alright."

America clenched her fists in ineffectual rage. She could not stop Russia or anything he wished to do. She had been signed, bound to him for as long as he wished. America could not believe it was happening.

There was nothing more galling than knowing she belonged to someone now. It made her stomach burn and twist in discomfort. They filtered in, the 'guests' were all those that had supported America during the war. China was among them, but mostly to sneer and mock her. Yet, there was a soft sort of pity in his gaze for her. There was none to be found in her former allies as they were paraded by her, so that they could see how she had fallen.

She turned her head away, as every country did not meet her eyes. Not even South Korea or Israel. Britain could not help her, and Canada looked ready to burst into tears. America refused to utter a word. However, she hoped that her presence would calm them.

They were not at fault. The US would survive. Her people would survive. That mattered even more than his pride.

Yet, America noticed that they were all allowed to leave her room. She shifted from the floor, and moved toward the window. America could see them. Canada waved to her, as he left the grounds.

Russia's house. America knew the black iron gate anywhere, with its unique spindles and arches.

Russia was keeping her in his fucking house. Not in a prison or a dungeon. But why? Wasn't he pleased in his nearly global victory? Soon, maybe, another country would catch his interest and he would leave America be.

When would she be allowed to go home? If the others could, then surely he would gloat over her for a time, then let her leave. Wouldn't he?

OoOoOo

No. Russia would not.

He made that painfully clear in the following week. America was seen to by the Ukraine, and she did not try to make life difficult for the other female nation. However, the cameras were always rolling. Even when she put the screen up so that she could bathe.

Russia spoke to her. Every morning, he wished her well, and at every evening he bid her sweet dreams. America wanted him to simply go away. And, it creeped her out that he was always watching her.

Waiting.

Lurking.

She bore it for seven days, however, Russia never made an appearance. He caused her no harm, and did nothing to her. It unnerved America even more than anything else. Russia was simply... holding her.

It disturbed her so much, that she did not know what to think of it, though her mid spun with the thoughts over and over again.

Until, on the eight day, America finally cracked enough to ask a single question.

"How long will you keep me?" She asked lowly, to the camera lens.

At first there was no reply, and America nearly rethought the idea that Russia was actually watching her. Until the Camera made a soft noise and she noticed that it was focusing on her even more.

As if he were getting a close up.

"Forever," his reply rumbled through the speaker after a few minutes.

The feeling of being trapped truly began to unfurl in America's mind and heart. He was never going to let her go. The others were permitted to leave his home.

America was not.

OoOoOo

After a month, America had settled into a routine of sorts.

Russia had, not so subtlety, filled the room in which he kept her, with Russian grammar books. The basics, advanced, modern, ect. America also noticed the _'My first 1000 words in Russian'_, and various other books for children that were there. Russia had gifted her a DVD player and a Pimsluer's _'Russian the Short course'_ for her entertainment.

After the eleventh day in captivity, America wanted to find out who made these Russian movies, and screen plays. Just so she could murder then in their sleep with a rusty spoon. However, it had given her a chance to speak with Ukraine, and get to know the other nation more.

An uneasy friendship bloomed between the women. Though, the only taboo subject was anything to do with Russia. Texas, had disappeared one night, and America had frantically searched for it everywhere.

Though still cracked, Texas belonged to America. Ukraine had promised to search for the missing spectacles.

On the thirty-second day, the door to her room opened at the usual time, and instead of Ukraine... Russia was staring back at her. She had been smiling, ready to ask Ukraine about her day, when she realized who it was.

"Are you hungry?" He asked nearly gently, as his frame seemed larger to America than it really was.

Her blue eyes narrowed at him, and the chain rattled as she turned to go back into the room.

"Come now, you cannot still be angry," Russia nearly purred at her. His voice seemed even deeper, when not filtered through the speakers.

"Wanna bet?" She replied smarmily.

However, that played directly into his hands. America gasped, wanting to keep her mouth shut so as not to speak with him further, but Russia was already smiling at her. And, apparently, he had no concept of personal space.

He was right in front of her, touching her and speaking animatedly, but not loudly.

"Ah. There is your pretty voice," he said nearly charmingly. "Come, speak with me. I have much to tell you."

America backed up a step, trying to avoid his hands.

"No. I don't want to speak with you."

"You already are."

"This is an error in judgment," the female nation retorted crossly.

His lips twitched upward at that one.

"Come," he coaxed, brushing her hair back a bit. "Share a meal with me."

"No."

He tutt-ed at her, and gestured to her face. His violet eyes seemed to bore into America, as if he were truly pleased to see her. Well, she wasn't happy to be here!

"Your mouth says 'no', but your eyes say 'yes'."

"No, my eyes say 'I wish you would drop dead.'" America snapped back, "But I have been told Miracles are sparingly used."

He laughed at that, a rich and deep sound. Unbothered by her resistance. His arms wrapped around her, and the jingle of the chain momentarily cut through the lull of conversation.

"Let me go home." America said softly, nearly pleading for a split second in time.

His violet eyes turned slightly cold.

"You are home." He told her firmly, tightening his hold on her. America looked away from him with irritation and a bit of hope broken to pieces.

She did not argue with him after that. She allowed him to unbolt her chain from the floor and to be led to the dining room. The setting was intimate, as if they were dating. Two plates were set out with utensils. The scent of roasted meat filled the air and it was a tantalizing smell.

America felt her stomach grumble with appreciation.

There was some sort of cooked vegetable, she could smell it as well. A type of pepper maybe? She wasn't sure. But she could detect cabbage.

He motioned for her to sit, but America stood instead. She felt uneasy about the romantic flair to the dinner. Lit scented candles, and it was then that she noted the flowers. Roses. Her national flower. America felt her eyes prick with tears, and her vision swam for a moment.

The rose. Her flower. England's flower. The flower of Bulgaria, Cyprus, the Czech Republic, Ecuador, Iran, Iraq, Luxembourg, Maldives, Romania, Slovakia, and South Korea. Those the species of flower and colors varied. It was something she had in common with so many. How many of them belonged to Russia now?

America spied the Chamomile intermixed with the Roses. Russia's national flower. Further suggesting that they belonged together or adding hinting to being more to each other.

Two dogs were under the table, waging their tails happily at her.

He noticed her gaze upon the dogs and smiled warmly.

"They are harmless." He assured her.

She wasn't afraid of the dogs. They were fine. She was terrified of eating with him at the table.

"I changed my mind." She stated abruptly. "I am not hungry."

Russia looked highly un-amused. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if she were being unreasonable with him. He glowered at her, searching her face for clues about where he had gone wrong or what had upset her so.

"If you won't eat with me," he said in heavily accented English, "then you can eat with the animals."

She lifted her gaze and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"I choose the animals." She snarled lowly. "They would be better company."

Russia's violet gaze darkened with fury, but he did nothing more than grab the chain around America's neck and secure it to a bolt in the floor. She did not have to even spare it a glance to know she would be unable to break it.

Damn him.

"Such a willful woman," he muttered as he moved her plate to the floor.

America waited, noticing that he offered her no utensils. Smart man. She would have loved to stab her fork through his eye. She glared at him, still hating him for what he had done. Then again, he could keep her at his leisure without ramification.

There was no one left to fight him anymore.

Russia seated himself in his chair and began to eat as if he was not at all bothered by chaining America to the floor. She would not give him the satisfaction of asking for anything from him. Anything!

His dogs soon took an interest in her meal, and she did not stop them as they began to devour every morsel. Their tags scraped against the plate, jangling loudly. Russia' violet eyes were on her, very displeased.

Internally she gloated. However, the dogs soon began to slobber on her, and that tarnished the mini-victory somewhat. America looked away from him and sat quietly.

She continued to do so, until he was finished. With a rugged grace, he rose from his chair and came closer to her. She did not move. Too many years of tense relations had taught her not to back down from him. Even if she was no match for him.

"Time for bed!" He declared in a nearly cheerful, but serious voice.

"Leaving so soon?" She asked with acid dripping from her words. America glanced at the way he grinned at her. As if her acting this was truly amusing. He ruffled her hair, disturbing Nantucket as she tried to turn her head away.

"Good night Amerika," he said with a low rumble to his words as he moved to turn off the lights. He closed the door behind him.

She muttered many, many curses at him, as he left her alone with only the light of the candles.

With the dogs.

OoOoOo

She felt herself being lifted up, and her blue eyes opened reflexively. Russia's face was so close to hers that America let out a startled 'eep'.

"Russia?"

He shushed her, and began to carry her out of the room. America felt her chain drag behind them, and she struggled to try and break free of his hold, but it was of no use. He was much stronger than she was now. America let out a groan of frustration.

She looked around, noticing that they were heading back to her 'room'. So he had only left her down there to teach her a lesson, maybe? Either way, she was not pleased by this.

"I can walk." She reminded him.

"I am aware," he responded casually.

He reached her room, and kicked open the door. She jumped slightly in his arms at the noise it made. America clutched him tighter, not meaning to. Russia glanced down at her, but said nothing else.

With three quick strides, he carried her into the room, and laid her on the bed. America blinked and watched him with wide eyes. There was a reason he had brought her here. She knew it instantly, as he fingered the clothes she had on with a contemplative look.

America blinked, noting that Russia almost seemed... nervous. His violet eyes watched her intently.

"Russia?" She asked again, her voice was as uncertain as she felt. What did he want?

Instead of answering, he placed a knee on the bed and kissed her. America's eyes widened, and the gasp that formed in her throat was swallowed whole. His tongue plundered her mouth as she started to struggle against him.

America felt her shirt being pulled away. The fabric was torn with ease under his strength. The Star-Spangled nation dropped further to the bed, breaking the kiss. Her lips were tender, from the force he used.

Not her wisest move.

His larger hands pulled at other parts of her clothes, as she became preoccupied with the chain. America still as something felt... off. With her. She hadn't eaten anything, and had not been drugged to her knowledge. Yet, her disgust with Russia was lessening with each passing moment.

"Do you feel it?" He asked in a smoky voice, laced with excitement. His eyes seemed to devour her.

America started at him as if he had lost his mind.

"Feel what?"

"You'll see," he said with a hint of disappointment in his features.

What was he talking about? That something... off and wrong... pulled at her again, leaving her confused and slightly disoriented. The female nation could not even rally herself enough to fight him off properly.

In a daze, she felt him tug at her pants.

"Lift your hips, Amerika," he whispered in-between trying to molest her. The fabric, once more was no match for him. However, much to America's dismay she did lift her hips to help him.

No. No! Why was she helping him? She licked her lips, feeling her worry and fear become mired in confusion. He kissed her again, as he divested her of her undergarments. She was left bare before him.

Russia took his time, touching each hill and valley of her body. No inch of her skin escaped his gaze or tender touches. He was acting as if they were lovers.

They had never been lovers before. Her thoughts focused on that tidbit and tried to hold on as he started to stroke the most intimate part of her. The one that had started to slicken under his advances.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked nearly breathless, but at the same time she was near tears.

Russia tenderly kissed her cheeks, rubbing against her as if he could barely contain himself. Or as if he could not stand the idea of not touching her.

"Because, I won you."

"Won me? I am not a prize!" America denied, feeling her ire slipping through her thoughts like a summer breeze. In her lands, which she might never see again.

"You are my prize. My reward. Mine." He said the words sensually, and they did not frighten her as much as they likely should have. There was a direct possessiveness in the words.

His touches turned from gentle, to more demanding. America gasped and moaned.

"Stop, please," she whispered and her voice hitched on the word 'please'.

Russia stared at her for a moment, swirling his fingers around her delicate core, with sure strokes, he was slowly crumbling her resolve. America's cheeks flushed and her lips parted as she tried not to voice what she felt.

His expression was partly remorseful, but lust still painted his features.

"I am sorry, Amerika. I have stopped myself for a month. Even my will has its limits. I can wait no longer."

A fissure of heat pooled in her loins at his words. She turned her face to the side, but her body arched under the continued caresses he unleashed upon her. His mouth was too hot for such a could country. It felt as if she was being consumed. His tongue licked her nipple and he suckled at it gently, causing her cry out in pleasure.

His hands. They were everywhere. She scarcely had a moment to draw breath. Before his body covered hers. Searing kisses stole any further words she might have voiced. Hesitantly, she returned the kiss.

What was happening?

He pulled back, a look in his gaze she had never seen before. America's arms trembled as Russia moved his hands down them, caressing her again as his violet eyes watched her intently.

"You're mine," he whispered across her throat, as he nipped at the skin there.

No, she would not say it. Though it was unmistakably true.

"Amerika," he purred. "Sweet Amerika, give in to me."

Something coiled lowly in her stomach, tightening as if it would snap. America knew that if she looked into his eyes once more, she would be lost. What was this power he had over her? She could not even command her tongue to move to tell him 'no'.

Or to agree.

Her thoughts muddled and she could not figure out what her own answer would be.

The chain slipped away, and she felt a mental one take its place. Russia had released her physical restraint. Her blue gaze caught sight of it as it slithered off the bed with a soft 'clanking'. Russia's burning kisses replaced the weight of the chain.

Pleasure bubbled inside of her, one so sweet she had no want to resist.

What was happening?

Something inside of her felt as if it was crumbling. Her resolve perhaps, for she could think of nothing else. For a single moment, she could hear her people's thoughts sway toward appreciating what Russia had done, for the structure of the U.S. Her government snapped into full compliance. Though she had 'joined' his new federation, her people had not been restructure as Russia required.

Until this night. This night where he had tried to woo her to his bed, and when that had failed, he had waited. Waited for the United States Government to finally start operating under Russian control, to the full extent. They had.

And, now, so did America.

She tugged at his shirt, causing it to rip in a few places a sheer need rippled through her. America felt her nether regions throb with heavy lust for him.

"Russia," she moaned, no longer still beneath him. Their lips slanted over each other time after time. Her breaths came out in short pants.

He could sense the change in her, and his hands went from gentle possessiveness, to outright grabbing America's arms and holding them above her head. She keened at being unable to touch him more.

She settled, instead, for bucking her hips. A physical plea for more of his touch. His other hand continued to tease a response from her writhing form. Their kisses only served to heighten their mutual arousal.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Her nakedness when contrasted with his clothed state, offered a bit of friction against the parts of her that were nearly weeping for Russia's attention.

Attention he was all too happy to give her. A zipper met its unfortunate demise, but Russia did not care. Neither did America. She mewled in pleasure and anticipation. She felt a thrill pulse through her as he held her arms above her head.

Warm flesh prodded at her inner thigh and her blue eyes were glazed with passion as he met Russia's gaze. He watched her, his eyes half-hooded as he thrust forward for the first time. America arched into him, crying out in discomfort and surprise. However, it quickly morphed into undeniable pleasure.

She was truly one with him now, she could feel it. Russia had possessed her lands, and her body as well. Her channel gloved him in silken, hot muscle. America panted as she was filled by him, unable to do much more than try to meet him. Her hand gripped at the part of his arm she could feel.

His mouth latched onto her neck and he sucked enough to distract her from tightening around him quite so much.

His hand moved, releasing her arms, and America reached for him as he braced himself upon the bed. His hips began to move back and forth. pulling out of the moaning female nation; only to push back in. America wiggled around him, starting to find a rhythm comfortable to her.

The steady rocking that had America pushing her heels into him to urge him on. The bead creaked in protest, having not been used for such a thing in a very long time. Russia kissed her as if it was paramount to his existence as he wrung pleading cries from her lips.

Yet, the way he touched her did more for America. His touch conveyed so much that mere words could not. It left them both far more vulnerable to each other. The larger nation groaned against her, feeling the sweet plateau of pleasure approaching.

America was not far off herself. She could not handle the feelings he created inside of her, coupled with his invasion of her body. Her movements against him were less coordinated, more animalistic as he ground against her.

She felt claimed, but it did not bother her now. America pulled him toward her as she pressed their lips together, feeling far more intimate in this time with Russia, than she had with any country in her life.

When the hot flood of warmth flooded her womb, and Russia stilled. It was all that America needed to rush head long into the bliss after him.

OoOoOo

After their night together, Russia allowed America to step out of his home for the very first time since she was captured.

The world, was nothing like what she had known. It was nearly frightening, how things had changed so very much. However, Russia would not permit her to be distracted by it. He kissed her, and told her that he would take her to visit her lands one day. However, it would not be any time soon.

She wore the gold bracelet around her wrist still. The one he had given her. The one she could never take off. It glittered in the sun, dancing around freely.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Author owns nothing. Gets nothing for this, except some praise :D _**

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, The bible, or concepts about angels or the afterlife. _**

**_I own nothing. You know that already. Rated M. Fluffiness asked for. Honestly, I have no idea what I am doing. Just needed to type something. _**

OoOoOo

She remembered that it had been night. She had been on her way into the store, because she was out of milk again and her cereal was just not as tasty when it was bone dry. Her blue eyes had barely had time to register the dark glint, and the man in the mask as she walked in.

It was bright flash of light, and the sound of thunder so close that it had brought Amelia to her knees. She could feel warmth flowing out and the world around her became horridly cold. So very cold.

Then, as if it had never existed, she opened her eyes to the gentle and radiating light that made her feel... safe. Comforted and warm. As if she were being embraced by someone who loved her beyond what she had ever comprehended before.

She was surrounded by light whips of ... smoke? No, that was not quite correct. It was thin, and white colored. Was it pieces of cloud? Mist? She ran a hand through her hair, only to find that she could not feel her glasses.

Amelia blinked, and looked around. She could make out someone in the mist, and she could see them clearly. Which boggled her mind, for she had terrible eyesight. It struck her, as well, that she was not in any pain, and something said she should be feeling pain.

It was vague, like a memory she could not recall, but at the same time... not important enough for her to give her full attention to.

The light pulled her closer, and without understanding as to 'why', Amelia started forward. Following the light.

OoOoOo

Ivan had been trying to save his little sister. He remembered that much. It was he, who had caught sight of the car coming toward them. He had pushed her out of the way, her scarf had come loose and he watched it as it fluttered to the ground. There was a flash of bright light, so bright that it defied real and true description. However, in the last moment Ivan could recall, there was that light and the distant sounds of breaking glass. The crunching of metal, and a pained scream of terror.

Yet, in the very next instant, all he could see was bits of cloud and light. What was going on?

There was a woman, staring around her, looking as lost as Ivan felt.

"Hello," He called out, curious and alarmed as to what was happening.

The woman turned, she was pretty, and young. Her blonde hair was falling down around her shoulders.

"Oh! Hi!" She replied with a relieved smile. She walked toward him, as Ivan picked up his pace toward her. His lips twitched in a reflexive smile.

"Do you know where this is?" He asked, trying to be polite but wanting to know.

"No," she said quickly, "No idea."

Something struck him as strange about the way she was speaking. She didn't sound Russian. She sounded Western. Canadian perhaps?

"Are you from Canada?" He asked, trying to gain information about what was going on and who she was.

Her nose scrunched up slightly in amusement.

"No, I'm American."

His bit of brightness at the situation plummeted at her declaration. Trapped... in some... place, with an American.

Of course.

However, her grasp of his language was commendable.

"American? And you speak Russian?"

"Uh... no, dude." The woman replied with a frown, and obvious confusion. "You're speaking English."

"That's impossible," he bit out trying not to be upset with her, "I do not know any English."

"And, I don't know Russian, so..." she commented waving her arms slightly, "you must be speaking English."

"I do not-"

"Be not afraid." A gentle and soothing voice sounded from above them, as a golden light hovered down toward them.

Both people instantly shut their mouths as their eyes widened.

The golden being came to rest before them. The woman staggered, and nearly fell to her knees. Ivan was no better off.

"I am an Angel." The dark-haired and dark-eyed male said clearly.

"An Angel?" The blonde mimicked with awe. "Are we dead?!"

The Angel hesitated, his eyes radiated a holy light.

"Not quite. You are in the world between worlds."

"What?" Ivan asked, glancing to the woman.

"Amelia Jones and Ivan Braginsky, you are not quite alive, but not entirely ready to pass on."

"You know my name?" The blonde woman asked with reverence, and Ivan took a moment to allow the severity of the situation to sink in.

"I was hit by a car," Ivan interrupted, not allowing the Angel to reply. "I must have hit my head," he continued with conviction. "That is what this is."

The dark-eyed Angel gave him an indulgent and kind smile.

"Much more than that, Ivan."

The words shook him, and he swallowed heavily.

"But I am not here to frighten or cause you unease."

"Are we going to our judgment?" Amelia asked quietly. Her blue eyes looked worried. "Because I found a $5 bill on the street and I didn't-"

"Give it back," The Angel finished. "We know."

She cringed slightly.

"No Amelia, that is not what this is about. The Lord has decided that you are to know the importance of your other half. It is... a kindness bestowed for those that were unable to find them in life."

The golden light grew stronger, and a sense of warmth flooded them.

"I don't understand," Ivan stated lowly, clearly moved by the presence of the being before him.

"I do." The blonde woman said quietly, looking close to tears. So close in fact, that one fell and disappeared in a swirl of golden light.

His violet eyes turned to her. And, he was struck by the sense of wholeness that looking at her brought. As if a veil had been lifted from his eyes and he was seeing someone he had known since the beginning of time. However, there was little he could do except to gesture at her in a way that conveyed 'What?'.

"It's a gift, isn't it?" Amelia asked gently, with her words sounding choked up slightly.

The Angel nodded, exalted grace pouring forth, as Amelia laughed. Her blue eyes landed on Ivan and a slightly wavering smile appeared on her face.

"Don't you see? He's saying that we were... are... soul mates. Two halves of one whole."

"Yes, I am," The dark-eyed angel replied with a smile of his own.

"But, then..." Ivan started looking lost and feeling equally confused as the light around them continued to shine. "Then why are we here?"

"Because, it is a gift, as Amelia has said. Only one of you is to come home to heaven."

Twin pairs of mortal eyes blinked in stark shock.

"Which one of us?" Ivan asked, feeling his heart race with dismay that his life would already be over and at such a young age.

Until Amelia stepped forward, her hand reached for his, and their fingers intertwined as if by their own will.

"Take me." She offered with more tears glistening in her sky blue orbs. "You said one of us. Take me. I... I'm not exactly ready to go, but I _will_ go."

"In a moment," the holy messenger stated, "one of you will wake up, to the mortal world once more. The other, I must take with me. However, you were both good and decent people."

"That's a little validating," Amelia replied with a quick but nervous grin.

Ivan snorted in amusement. Trying not to get himself dammed for laughing at a remark about an Angel. Was such a thing allowed? He hoped it was, otherwise his soul mate had gotten him into an eternity of trouble.

Then again, apparently his soul mate was... _American_. Which, due to the course of Ivan's life, would be just about correct.

He would doubt the validity of that statement, but it was an Angel saying it to him. So, Ivan was not inclined to argue.

"We only have a 'moment' together and this is how you choose to spend it?" Ivan questioned, as he turned toward the woman with a slight rebuke in his tone.

Then she smiled at him, as if he was everything she had ever been waiting for, and Ivan felt his entire world shift. A deep sense of _knowing_ echoed in his heart. This woman, this... stranger... was truly made just for him. And he, for her.

"Well, if we only have a moment," Amelia said honestly, "then I want it to be with _you_."

Unbidden, Ivan felt his eyes moisten, and he cleared his throat to keep some semblance of control.

"Here," The Angel continued gently, "Time has no meaning."

"What does that mean?" The Russian man asked, unable to fully process what was occurring. It was a moment he would never forget. He swore that much to himself and perhaps, even to God.

"It means," Amelia replied as she squeezed his hand, "that we will have an eternity in a single moment. Right?"

"Yes," the dark-eyed Angel grinned, looking a bit put-out by the unusual pair before him. He had a whole speech prepared, but humans were very mercurial things. Which was partly why the Lord loved them so. However, on occasion, they gave Angels headaches.

Especially the guardians.

He wasn't going to mention that Amelia's had face palmed once or nine times.

"An eternity in a moment?" Ivan asked for clarification.

"Yes."

"Then I shall spend an eternity getting to know you and being glad of you," he said, feeling slightly off balance as he placed a hand on the cheek of a woman he had only just met.

"And, I'll spend an eternity loving you," she replied with such heart breaking sincerity that Ivan did not doubt her words for a moment.

OoOoOo

He gasped, in pain and the feeling that he was choking. A cry of surprise and delight followed what felt like a never ending few seconds as medical personnel came flooding into his room. Ivan was calmed down, and informed that he was at the hospital, and on a ventilator, which had been breathing for him.

He was also told of the miraculous recovery he was and had been making. They had honestly thought he was going to die a few times. But, for some reason, they said it was his will -Ivan was not so certain-, he would be able to leave without lasting damage to his body, minus a few scars.

But he remembers the light, and the brightness. Above all, he remembers an American named Amelia, and what she meant to him. He weeps that night, for the joy of knowing of her and the loss of being with her.

His sisters believe it is because he is relieved to be alive. He does not correct them, because he misses the other half of him too deeply to speak of her.

Before they increase his pain medicine, the briefest moment when he closes his eyes, he sees her and prays that she will forever be safe. He swears to himself that he will be good, so that when his time finally does come, he will be with her once more.

OoOoOo

In a hospital thousands of miles away, a blonde haired man wept as he kissed the cheek of his sister. He did not see the glimmer above her as the monitor began to beep shrilly, indicating that she was flat-lining. The doctors had told him repeatedly that her heart had been severely weakened and it was very unlikely she would survive the night.

The walls of the ICU seemed to be crowding in on him. He stared at the covering he was required to wear around her, and wondered how it had all come to this.

He had been in Canada, going over reports for the latest designs that would need his approval. For Matthew was a very successful engineer. So, when he had heard his phone go off, and seen his sister's number, he had -at first- ignored it believing she had forgotten about the time zone differences.

However, when the next call on his caller ID said it was a hospital, he had felt cold dread flood his veins.

And, one red-eye flight later, he had been correct. Now, he sat with the smells of strong antiseptic, and the hum of numerous machines that he could not even name. They were keeping her alive, monitoring her breathing, one lung had been punctured by a bullet and had collapsed twice. Multiple organs were close to ceasing on top of her strained heart.. He squeezed her hand as the monitor beeped shrilly again.

"It's okay Amelia," He said through a voice thick with tears. "You can go now. I'll... I'll be alright. It's okay now. You rest. I p-promise, I won't be mad at you. I love you."

Matthew stroked her hair as she laid there, already still and pale. Internally he attempted to prepare for the worst, but even though he knew the end was coming, he prayed that she might yet live.

Hospital workers entered the room, they gazed at him mournfully, knowing that she was not long for this world.

"Matthew," The Doctor said gently, looking as haggard as the sibling felt. "It's time."

Tears cascaded down the blonde man's face as he nodded through his emotional pain.

"I know," he whispered brokenly. "I know."

Matthew would have to tell their parents. How could he look at their mother and father? They were still in the air, flying back from their vacation overseas. It was supposed to be a happy event for their anniversary, and now he would have to tell them that Amelia was gone.

Somberly, they began detaching the life support, and turning off the machines. Matthew had already signed the paperwork, because the sight of her on the ICU bed was too much to stand. Knowing that she would never wake again.

Finally, there was only silence and the sounds of his choked sobs. The Doctor stayed with Matthew, placing a warm hand of comfort on his shoulder. Matthew held her hand, feeling as if his whole world was disappearing beneath him.

He was her big brother. He was supposed to protect her. And, now... now...

He squeezed her hand, feeling the emotional pain as if it were a knife between his ribs, tearing him apart.

Neither he, nor the doctor, expected Amelia to squeeze his hand back.

It was the loudest gasp he had ever heard in his 27 years. Matthew's violet eyes stared in mute shock as her chest began to rise and fall. Her arm twitched and she continued to squeeze Matthew's hand as if she was holding on for dear life.

"That's not possible," the Doctor commented, as he moved away from Matthew and toward Amelia.

Glazed blue eyes cracked open hazily, to see the shocked faces of the hospital staff and the fearfully hopeful look on her brother's face.

She parted her lips, as -who she presumed- was the doctor started barking orders to the nurses and flashing a light in her eyes. The man was talking? Maybe? Amelia could scarcely think. What was Matthew doing here?

The Doctor's fingers were on the pulse point of her neck.

"That's not possible..." He stated again, looking startled. "Her pulse is strong."

He slipped off his stethoscope and placed it to her chest.

"Amelia!" Matthew shouted in hoarse joy. "You're alive!" He tried to hug his sibling, only to be pushed aside firmly by the doctor.

"Matthew, you need to step back and let me examine her."

The words did not seem to fully penetrate her foggy brain.

"Ms. Jones?" The Doctor said sternly, getting her attention, "Can you tell me your first name?"

She moved her glassy gaze toward the white coat.

"I..." she started softly, "Ivan?"

Matthew blinked, and looked at her worriedly. He and the Doctor exchanged glances.

"What?"

"Russia." Amelia said, starting to move, before falling back due to the pain. "Must... remember... Russia."

"Doctor? What is going on?"

"Nurse," the Doctor said with a false calm voice, concern visible about his eyes. "Let's get an MRI and CT scan of her head please."

"Is she even stable enough for that?" A nurse asked quietly.

The Doctor looked out of his element.

"I have no idea." He answered honestly, as he watched Matthew hover over his patient like a hawk.

Because, the woman was only seconds from death, and now she was talking. It was...

It wasn't possible. Yet, there she was.

OoOoOo

**One Year Later**

March had come in like a lion, and the snow was drifting in heavy flurries. Ivan watched them from the window, the thought and memories of his 'near death' experience crossed his mind once more.

He thought about her, and the fact that he could not go back, though there were times he dearly wanted to. It was an experience too special to speak of, and his though his sisters doted upon him nearly endlessly, he missed what might have been.

Had Amelia lived, what might have been between them? When he had regained consciousness, he had prayed that the Lord might reconsider and take him instead of her. In an eternity of loving her, and feeling whole with her, Ivan had lived the single most important instant in his life.

And, nothing compared to that blissful paradise of her at his side.

It hurt to ponder over long. He shook himself, readying to make more tea, before he started out to shovel his aging neighbor's path. Ivan had found comfort in bringing happiness to others, so that they might have a bit of the what he had once possessed.

What he hoped to be enough to deserve again.

His family worried over him, he knew. For he had changed quite a bit from his experience. Though such things were expected, they wondered why he seemed sad so often. One could not fly in the sky and then be grounded for the rest of their life without some remorse.

There was a nearly timid knock at his door. Ivan raised a brow, and went to the door. He had no idea when he opened it, that his world would be changed once more.

Blonde hair, and bright blue eyes flooded his vision. The familiar curve of her face, and the way she smiled told him all he needed to know. Ivan could not believe his eyes, as she adjusted her glasses.

"_Hi..."_ Amelia said softly, shyly. And, it was like an arrow straight through his heart, as the memories of an eternity flooded his senses.

"_Hello."_

She hadn't had glasses when he had met her, and he noted the cane she leaned on. A cane. When the Angel had said one of them was a mere moment away from death. What had happened to his beloved?

Silence stretched between them as he took in what he was seeing.

The look on her face, one that he knew so well, spoke volumes of being afraid of what he might think.

Ivan, chose not to waste another moment, and pulled her into his arms. He tried to be careful, but she still let out a small sound. Either from pain or surprise, as he hugged her tightly.

"_I knew I wasn't crazy." _ She said in halting Russian, that sounded as if she had practiced, but the inflection was off.

_"No_," He replied as he kissed her hair. "_No. You aren't crazy. Unless I am as well."_

"_I hope not. I spent a year... learning."_

Ivan laughed gently, as he released her and ushered her inside. Amelia limped toward his couch as he shut the door, and he was struck by how right her being there seemed. Perhaps God took pity on him after all.

"_How?"_ He asked simply, and the one word said all that needed to be asked.

Her blue eyes sparkled brightly, and he felt whole once more.

"_I... It is a miracle. I think. I do not understand either."_

Ivan nodded thoughtfully, as he took a seat next to her. He watched her rub at her midsection and wince slightly. The Russian native reached for her hand with a tenderness that few ever receive.

"_I am so happy to see you."_

Amelia grinned sweetly at him.

"_Me too."_ She responded honestly.

_"How did you find me?"_ Ivan wondered aloud.

It took her a moment to understand what he was saying, before she smiled widely.

"_Ivan Braginsky. Common, but not many who... almost die... soon?"_

Ah. Yes, that made sense. The Angel had said that they were both near death, and he doubted many men with his name had been in many serious accidents on that day.

His other half was clever.

"_I have missed you."_

Amelia, were it possible, brightened even more. She leaned toward him, and winced again. Ivan had asked her, in between worlds, what had happened. Amelia had told him all she remembered. Now, he understood. He moved to ease her to his side.

"_I love you." _Amelia said with conviction.

"_I love you as well."_ Ivan said, close to vowing it for eternity.

But they would be together forever, and they both knew it.

_"Where are the rest of your things?" _He asked after a few blissful moments of serene peace.

_"What?"_

_"Where are the rest of your things?"_

_"Why?"_

_"How can you live here with only what you have?"_

_"Live here?"_

_"Yes. Where else?"_

She looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

_"You and I move to America."_

He laughed then, as if she had made some grand joke.

_"I'm serious."_

_"No."_

It was not quite heaven, but it was the closest he could come to it on Earth. And, he knew that somewhere in the vast cosmic universe, a being far greater than himself had decided that he could have it again.

Provided his stubborn soul mate did not actually think he was going to move to America. But, they could argue that later. Instead, Ivan decided to end the argument for now, but kissing Amelia soundly.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Author owns nothing. Gets nothing for this, except some praise :D _**

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas. And, so on, and so forth. Ect. Ect. _**

**_I own nothing. Rated M. Somehow this went from funny to dark, really quickly. For those that wanted Scheming America... You're welcome?_**

OoOoOo

A drunken England was either your best friend, or your worst nightmare.

For Russia, he was a bit of both actually. The one evening that he had deemed to accept the lack luster invitation for going out for drinks, had been when he had nothing better to do. Also, he was being told to associate with England a bit more, because of some need for more political clout or some other such nonsense.

Russia hardly paid attention to it. England was insisting on buying, throwing his credit card around as if it were a child's toy, and not a means of payment. However, Russia could hardly complain, after all, he was getting fine alcohol out of the deal.

That suited him enough to remain quiet and tolerate England moaning over all his former colonies leaving him.

Da, da, Russia's heart nearly _bled _for the _poor_ bastard. He managed to keep his eye rolls to a minimum by sheer will power. Also, the more he drank, the more tolerable England truly was. He was, dare he even hope, borderline amusing when the Island nation began to slur and sway.

Then, as sometimes occurs with 'trashed' and not clearly thinking England, events turned... to talks of magic.

Bah! Russia had no need of such things.

"I..._hic_... I can m-ma-make you... everybody love!" England said with nearly feverish determination as he argued to himself for the past hour. "I a-a-always thought you... _massive_ tosser!"

Russia raised a brow, his own cheeks were rosy from the warm burn of the alcohol. However, he only smiled at England quietly, hoping not to encourage him over much.

"Yull, you'll see." The green-eyed male promised, tossing back another drink. "Sh-show you, you b-bloody arse!"

The Slavic nation was unsure whether he was being called an 'ass' endearingly or as an insult this time. It was awfully hard to tell with England.

"Y-You donna believe me?" England demanded, thumping at his chest. "Ya daft fuck?!"

Russia wasn't going to argue with him, he _hadn't_ been arguing him. And, now he understood where America got her loudness from. He was content to let England rage to himself, until the other male reached out in speed 'drunk', which was horridly slow as well as uncoordinated. England's warm hands landed on the top of Russia's head, and gave a vicious tug.

The Slavic nation, took a bit of offense to that, and shoved England off his stool.

"Ha! T-too late!" The green-eyed male nearly hissed, or perhaps the slurring was getting far... far worse.

Russia narrowed his violet eyes, and glared at England, preparing to leave. When he noticed that the inebriated nation was muttering something under his breath, and held several flaxen-white hairs.

Russia's hair.

Reflexively, he reached to touch the area where England had yanked. Though he could not feel the loss, he knew that the Island nation had taken them. He did not know what to make of England as the smaller male took a deep breath and blew the hairs back at Russia.

Wind and spittle brushed against his cheek, and the Slavic nation snarled a curse and rubbed it off. All to the sounds of England's triumphant, crowing, laughter.

OoOoOo

Something strange was happening.

Russia glanced around the next world meeting, to see that every female nation... was attempting to flirt with him. He nearly didn't believe it. Except that Hungary, had tried to invite him out for tea after the meeting.

The large nation had been, admittedly, surprised, but his schedule for the day was lamentably full. So he had graciously declined. Yet, that had not stopped the female from pouting coyly in disappointment. Something Russia had never witnessed Hungary do.

He had felt a tingle of fear up his spine, that Belarus would not find this at all pleasing. However, the normal aura of sheer death that usually radiated someone speaking to Russia in any manner that did not involve business, failed to appear.

Da, something was most certainly 'off' here.

Russia was instantly on alert, noticing that Hungary smiled sweetly at him, as she made a polite excuse to go to her seat. Just as he turned his head, Belgium winked at him. Obviously. It was not something in her eye. For the female nation leaned, rather provocatively -though still professionally dressed-, over the table. She even gave a slight wave in greeting.

He blinked, not daring to believe his own eyes. He had never received such attention before, all at once. There wasn't a smidgen of fear or concern in the eyes of the women, but the men looked just as bored or uneasy as before in his presence.

Russia smiled widely, and winked back at Belgium who grinned in return. His confidence boosted a bit, at being flirted with by two female nations. The usual trudge to his chair held far more pep in his step than usual.

It was shaping up to be a good day, though he was still glancing to the rafters of the room, and out the window for some attempt of attack.

Ukraine smothered him in a warm and affectionate hug. Russia felt himself flush, and he stared at her for a moment. He adored his neighboring nation, for she was sweet and kind, as much as he side-stepped Belarus's attempts of affection. He lost himself in the simple delight of her affection.

However, in the back of his mind, he wondered where Belarus was.

Yet, that thought was lost as he noticed the 'come hither' look in Seychelles's eyes. Russia smiled widely. Today was shaping up to be rather... interesting. The thought crossed his mind, that perhaps England was not merely bluster. The short nation could actually... accomplish something correctly.

OoOoOo

Belgium had invited him to dinner. Hungary, still wanted tea with him at a later date. Seychelles had hinted at visiting his 'lovely' country. Lichtenstein had come to him, with a pink face, asking if they could sit together at another meeting. Russia had almost cooed at how adorable she was.

Taiwan had inquired about drinks with him tonight. Vietnam had commented on how handsome he looked in his suit, her dark eyes were vaguely reminiscent of a tiger as she hungrily stared him down.

Russia was highly pleased with the day. The meeting had progressed quietly, and when he had made a suggestion, to his amazement, America had not argued with it. But it was most notable that so many women were chasing after him.

As he was lost in his fond daydreams...

Something smaller and soft collided with him. Russia blinked down to see a familiar head of blonde hair. Slowly, her head lifted up, and she was staring at him, with something close to deep affection.

Russia's eyes narrowed. If England's magic was at all capable of getting every other female, it would surely skip America, perhaps she was less annoying today, but it would end there. For England would never permit his former 'Little Sister' from falling for Russia.

Ever.

"Amerika," Russia sneered in distaste. "You are-"

"You were right," she said with open honesty, "About everything."

Her blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. It gave Russia pause, but taking the wind out of his sails. What could have reduced such an overly proud nation to tears? He felt uneasy.

"What?"

"I am so sorry, Russia," America continued, brushing a lock a blonde hair behind her ear. Nantucket dropped morosely. "I-I never meant to hurt you, or to drive this wedge between us."

He flushed at her words, startled beyond anything he had experience in all his years. His heart started to race and his palms felt suddenly clammy.

"What?" He repeated, slightly louder this time.

America drew closer toward him, which didn't seem possible. She was already touching bodies with him. She appeared nervous or apprehensive, but under that she was saddened.

"I am sorry, Russia. I really, really am." Texas glinted and showed off just how blue here eyes really were.

The events were happening before his very eyes, but he felt as if he were in a haze. Was this a dream? America was actually apologizing? To _him_? How powerful was England's magic?

Russia realized with belated alarm, that England was a real and present threat if he could accomplish all this.

Her hand was warm and soft, as she reached up to gently caresses his face. He caught a faint whiff of her perfume. It was floral based, but calming and not overbearing.

"Please don't be angry with me anymore." America whispered gently. "I simply, could not bare it."

Her face neared his, and for a brief moment, Russia felt with a certainly as constant as the Sun's presence tomorrow, that America was going to kiss him.

"I-I love you."

His eyes dilated at her words. Words he had longed to hear from anyone that wasn't slightly homicidal like Belarus. Though he held affection for her as well. But his heart clenched painfully with long-lost hope, in his chest.

"What?" He said for a third time, unable to say much else at the moment. His word was more of a croak than true speech.

Her blue eyes were filled with deep longing and tender care.

"I. Love. You. Russia." America said with such sincerity that it nearly hurt. "Please, let me stay by your side. I never want to leave you."

The world was spinning far faster than it should. This was... crazy. Magic! Russia took a breath, though his face did not betray the emotional upheaval he was in. America was all around him. Her scent, her hands that were gently drawing him downward toward her waiting lips.

And she was saying such... such wonderful things.

Russia pulled away, taking a step back.

America looked, vaguely lost, and some part of Russia deep down, wanted to erase that expression from her face. Gone was the dislike and hate he had clung to. Now there was confusion in its place. Russia felt mixed up and that was no place to be.

He took another step away from the female nation that watched him as if he hung the very moon. Russia swallowed, and blinked at her. Violet eyes took in every detail of the picture she presented.

"Please don't leave me," America cajoled with a sweet sadness in her gaze and face.

Someone was calling for him to stay? His heart pounded. It seemed that England's magic had effected every other woman at a lesser extent than _Amerika._ There was no mistaking the way she was begging him to stay with her. Russia needed to see if this was a temporary situation, or if it was permanent.

That would decide his next course of action.

Her hand reached for him, but ended up grasping air.

"Russia?" She whispered, looking lost once more.

Russia shook himself internally, and let her continue to stand there. Then, he continued down the hall, trying to make the world make sense again.

"Belarus," America said quietly, when Russia was no longer in sight. "You there?"

The silence was answer enough, and the Star-spangled nation knew that wild horses could not have drug Belarus away from anything to do with Russia. The other female nations came out from behind the corner, some of them were laughing, some looked annoyed at their charms being so thoroughly dismissed.

"Dude," America continued, growing louder, "See? I told you, it's not you, Russia just has _commitment_ issues."

The other female nations gave knowing looks of agreement and started nodding with America's assessment. The female nations began turning off the tiny cameras hidden in their hair or clothing.

OoOoOo

In a room far away, Belarus quietly watched the screen. She had seen all the footage, and Russia had not behaved different than he normally did. Her brow puckered in concentration. She was deeply upset with how the other nations flirted with Russia. Yet, in each case he had brushed them aside.

America, having to show everyone up, had even gone overboard and declared 'love' for Russia. Something Belarus knew was not true, so she had snorted dismissively at the attempt. Yet, even then Russia had walked away.

Perhaps? Perhaps, America was correct? The reason he wouldn't marry her was because he was... oh what had America called it?

A commit-a-phobe?

When she had first approached America, with her concern, Belarus had been hesitant, but something about America and the woman's attempts at friendship had drawn her in. However, now she had been able to see, through different eyes, the problem at hand. And, she now owed a debt of gratitude to the loud-mouthed nation. Hm.

Belarus swore to herself, that she would help her beloved Russia through his fears.

She simply had to try _harder_.

OoOoOo

America sighed happily as she arrived home. _Finally._

In a haze of jet-lag, and a need for caffeine -though she knew it usually made it worse-, America stumbled blindly toward the kitchen for the coffee pot.

"Sweet, sweet, black nectar," she muttered under her breath as she set about making the hot beverage.

Her phone began to ring from the hallway, and she blinked in surprise. Who would be calling at this hour? Scratch that, who knew she was even home yet? She set the coffee grinds down, and hurried to the phone. She nearly slid down the hall, as her socked-feet brushed across the wood flooring.

She picked up the receiver, and barely managed to utter a word.

"America?"

The personification perked up. She knew the sound of her President anywhere.

"Hey dude!"

There was an affectionate chuckle from the other end, as well as a sigh of exasperation.

"Hello America." The President replied, with a strange energy in his voice. "I am calling because I just got off the phone with the President of Russia."

America stilled, so quickly that one might believe she ahd stopped breathing.

"Is that so?" She continued conversationally.

"It is, and to my surprise, Russia's personification has requested a meeting between the two of you to discuss some possible, potential, political ideas."

"Aren't possible and potential-?"

"Their phrasing, not mine. And, I believe it is to convey that nothing is concrete at all yet. This would really just be talking but-"

"It's the most we've had in over a decade, really." America finished quickly.

"Yes," The President agreed solemnly, "but it holds a chance at much, _much_ more. Apparently something you said at the world meeting made Russia reconsider this political stalemate. I might be getting a head of myself a bit, but if we play our cards right-"

"We might have more than a truce on our hands." The female nearly whispered.

"Exactly! Imagine how I felt when they called!"

She listened as her President and political figurehead reveled in the new situation.

"You are rather quiet, do you have anything to say about this?" The president asked, barely containing his excitement and pride that The United States personification had somehow managed to impress Russia's personification on such a level that they were thawing so much...politically speaking.

America's blue eyes widened, and she swallowed quickly, her mind blazing at a thousand miles per minute.

"America?" The President chirped again. "Never mind the rest of it, just tell me, how did you do it?"

The blonde woman pressed her forehead against the wall, feeling the weight of the news.

"I...I did not think this one through." She admitted.

"What?" The President responded, clearly confused.

America closed her eyes and sighed.

"Nothing, Sir. Just...just send my warmest regards to the President of Russia, and of course... its personification."

The President chuckled lightly. "Will do. Take care, and get some rest. You've earned it tonight."

"Thank you, Mr. President." America replied dutifully. She hung up the phone quietly.

OoOoOo

Alone, in her home, no one witnessed the Cheshire grin that split her features. She sat at her table, with a steaming mug of coffee. Sweet but not overly so. As she pondered the events that might come into play.

It was sooner, than she had anticipated, she allowed, but she should have guessed that Russia did things at his own pace. They were very much alike. America had been prepared to wait another ten to twenty years, before rebuilding the bridge between them.

However, that night -as she watched from the shadows of a nearby booth-, seeing England drunkenly promise to make people care for Russia through magic... well... that had been ripe an opportunity to leave untouched.

It had set a great many things into motion.

Her blue eyes hardened as she recalled all the work involved with baiting Belarus into coming to her. The smaller female nation was not easily deceived, and it had taken weeks of subtle hinting, as well as leaving small things of Russia's around to whip the smaller nation into a feminine frenzy. Women were terrifying creatures when they were after something.

America knew that very, very well.

It was true that politically, they had been trading pot-shots at each other. Slapping one another with propaganda, biased media, and sanctions. Though such things were out of her hands, in truth. Was it so much to ask for a little attention from the Slavic nation?

Belarus loved Russia for what he could be. Gentle, artistic, and intelligent.

America loved him for what he was. Strong and vicious. Unforgiving. A force to be reckoned with, when provoked. Intelligence as well, but in a darker manner.

Oh, they needed each other. As a sword needed a shield and vice versa. But to get them together, she had to play the game. Exploit the weaknesses that could be found when people let their guard down around an 'idiotic' nation.

If America wanted to change the world, and keep her people from the most harm. She truly did love Russia, but above that she _needed _Russia. His people and his forces. And, she had to do it in such a way that gave her leadership plausible deniability. That she had found in spades, thanks to the foolish antics her fellow personifications often got into.

Her lips twitched into a smile as she took a sip of her coffee.

Her President had no idea what she was capable of. The last person to see her without her guise of cheerful idiocy, had been former President George Washington.

It would take some string pulling, and a few old debts called in, but with some well thought out scheming, she would be able to lure Russia into a union. She might have to provoke England into thinking he had to 'break the spell', which could force Russia into acting sooner.

After all, he assumed that America could not help but be in-love with him due to the magic. He would presume that he had the upper hand. That he had the power.

Which is just how America wanted it.

OoOoOo

Russia was apprehensive about the meeting, but he brushed his suit one more time. He had declined telling England about what had occurred. Though he had been fending off Belarus at a more frequent rate as of late.

It was, simply put, exhausting.

So he did not look his absolute best, which irritated him, but now would be the time that he would find out if Amerika's sudden affections had waned. There was good reasons for taking advantage of the situation, and it was only sensible to.

However, some part of him wanted that blatant devotion Amerika held, directed at him.

With a deep breath, he opened the door, and noticed that she was in a blue skirt-suit. Proper women's business apparel. His violet eyes scanned her face, behind an impassive neutral mask of his own.

"Russia," America said warmly. Her blue gaze was soft behind Texas. "I am so glad to see you."

Like a plug being pulled, all the tension drained out of him as he watched her smile at him as if he was the beginning and end of everything.


	16. Chapter 16

**_This Author does not lay claim to characters or ideas contained herein. This is not for profit or other material benefit. Rated M. _**

**_Whee! Some crack here! Have a laugh! :)_**

**_I own nothing, please enjoy. _**

**_OoOoOo_**

The little known fact of the world-

Russia's scarf was a massive pervert. And, said scarf, often found itself trying to snare or entangle pretty female nations.

Sadly, on Tuesday, a day that will live in infamy, it took a shining to a certain female nation that Russia had a slight snarky/hate relationship toward. It twitched to awareness, and almost as if it had caught sight of something worth seeing. It slithered on the ground, as its master dutifully finished signing the last report he would file later on the meeting notes.

Some would say the scarf had a soul. Others said that it was almost like the 'Id' of Russia's psyche. What it wished to do, it did until it was pleased with the result. Such as heading over to look at the only other person in the room with its Master.

A well-toned leg, covered by sheer stockings, was the goal of the scarf today.

The personification of the United States of America, let out an undignified yelp of surprise as something soft and warm wrapped around her leg. The sensation of something touching her, had the female nation leaping into the air.

"What the hell?!" She screamed as she fell over. Whatever had her leg was holding on tightly. Her blue eyes widened as she looked down to see... a scarf?

America scowled. Oh hell, the thing had finally decided to come after her now? She still remembered freeing Hungary from this stupid thing. America reached down to yank the blasted thing off of her. The scarf recoiled, as if it had a mind of its own.

She shuddered. She had forgotten what a freak of nature this thing was. After hundreds of years of leaving her alone, it suddenly decided to get a bee in its bonnet and come after her.

"Russia!" America hollered with ire, as the scarf evaded being caught by the... head? The blonde nation wasn't entirely certain what to call the end of it. Since somehow, Russia's scarf defied all laws of matter and physics.

The male nation had the audacity to hold up a finger toward her. Signaling that he would be with her in a moment. The bastard didn't even bother to look up! America scowled at him, as she yanked at the body of the scarf attempting to pull the pink monstrosity from her leg.

To her horror, and embarrassment, instead of being deterred as it had been when she'd freed Hungary, the blasted thing went higher still.

"Hey!" America cried out indignantly. "What in the world do you think _you're_ doing!"

She could of sword the ting laughed, because it contracted and then loosened again. Okay. This was officially freaking her right the fuck out!

"Get the hell off of me!" She hissed as it began to reach the edge of her skirt. "I will burn you. Then I will smear your ashes into Poland's make-up!"

"Now that was simply uncalled for," came the baritone voice of the Slavic nation in his accented English.

America was about to retort, when the other side of the scarf shot out from lying limply on Russia's chest. It was like a snake poised for attack as it launched at her. She tried to move out of the way, but the part tied around her leg held her fast.

Just as quickly, the other end of the scarf wrapped around her arms and held them behind her back, as she was lifted into the air. She was not being harmed at all, but America was rather pissed off, and understandably so.

OoOoOo

"Put me down, ya jackass!" The star spangled nation all but hissed as she attempted to wiggle free of the scarf.

He hummed in the back of his throat, fully enjoying the state she was in as well as her distress. He would have taunted her, gloated a bit more, but something caught his eye. The way the scarf had sneaked up her thigh, pushing part of her skirt up and exposed a glimpse of her underwear.

Admittedly, Russia had expected Red, white, and blue. With little stars. Or perhaps a simple scrap of black lace. Not that he'd ever thought of such things often.

But to see White, Red, then blue... took him by surprise and caught his interest

Was it his imagination, or was Amerika wearing his national flag over her naughty bits?

The Slavic nation tilted his head, and his violet eyes stared a bit harder at the colors of her underwear.

Nyet. There was no mistaking it. The Star-spangled pain in his ass, was wearing -

Was that an 'I heart Russia'?

Violet eyes widened marginally. His head tilted even farther to see it better. Da. Da, it was.

"Hey asshole!" Amerika shouted at him, writhing even more. Which made the whole scene very distracting and something reminiscent of a strange cartoon he'd seen from Japan. "I said. Put. Me. Down!"

A Cheshire grin split the male nation's features, as Russia felt the first strings of intrigue toward the female nation. Something he had not felt for her for many years now. For the first time in decades, Amerika aroused his curiosity again.

"Amerika?"

"Da?" She mimicked his accent terribly on purpose just to irritate him. He knew that for a fact because she confessed to it several times before.

"Why are you wearing my flag colors as your under garment?" He questioned in a nearly polite and conversational tone, but internally he was more than slightly amused as well as flattered. With a cat-like grace, he rose from the table, and came toward her.

His scarf seemed to grow longer with his every step, but Russia paid that no mind. He was busy analyzing the new information.

Amerika had all but declared her 'Vital regions' as his. Admittedly, he was a bit flattered. Perhaps she was such an annoyance because she wanted his attention? That was, oddly adorable. Like a child, almost. Except the thoughts he was entertaining about Amerika were certainly not child-like in nature.

He could see the way her eyes widened behind Texas, and how her face paled momentarily.

"W-what? What are you talking about? You crazy Ruski! I... I.. It's Dutch! Dutch I tell you." Amerika sputtered, looking away from him as her rage melted into mortification. Before masking it, with a strained look of triumph.

"Oh?' Russia replied lazily, as the scarf wound around her body tighter. Nearly caressing the exposed skin it touched.

"Y-yeah!" Amerika rebutted quickly. "I can't get enough... of that...guy."

The excuse sounded feeble to his ears, and likely hers.

"Really?" The Slavic nation provoked her further, like a bored lion.

"Totally! Fuck you!" The blonde female snarled as she bit the portion of the scarf that got too close to her mouth. It recoiled on one end, and tightened on the other.

"Now, now," Russia chided gently. "No teeth."

Amerika bared her pearly whites at him, an blatant challenge to his words.

"When I get out of here, and I will, I am going to burn this perverted piece of-"

"If it is Dutch," Russia interrupted with a gruff tone, "why does it say 'Россия'"

The star-spangled nation grit her teeth. Her blue eyes narrowed into slits. He could see that he had reached the part of 'American deflection'.

"Typo."

He smiled at that. His violet eyes danced playfully, as he toyed with just how far Amerika would deny the truth.

"And, the colors are in the wrong-"

"Misprint." She enunciated crisply. "It makes them a collector's item."

His brows rose almost to his hair line.

"Truly?" He quirked with a nearly knowing look. "Then perhaps you should take them off, and keep them in a safe place?"

The scarf tightened at the idea, clearly delighted. Russia could not say that he would be entirely against it either.

Amerika glared daggers at him, and Russia felt his pulse quicken. Now this, this form of Amerika he enjoyed baiting. The kind that made him feel invigorated.

Her features shifted from the neutral mask to one that was slightly more threatening, because she was smiling at him coldly.

"Trust me darlin'," She drawled in a heavy southern accent. "They can't get much safer than where they are."

"Is that so?" He challenged, thoroughly enjoying the game.

"It is so." The female nation replied with a stubborn tile of her chin upward. Almost as if she were daring him to try something.

Ah! Now he remembered why Amerika intrigued him so. Backed into a corner, at an obvious disadvantage and still she refused to cower to him. But the faint stain of red on her cheeks belayed her embarrassment over the situation.

It was oddly charming, in its own way.

The seconds ticked by into minutes, as she refused to tear her gaze away from his. All the while his scarf seemed to snuggle into Amerika like a contented cat. Its nearly serpent-like movements were momentarily forgotten as Russia sensed his scarf actually approved of the female nation it entangled.

"You really are not going to admit it, are you?" Russia asked after a moment, his violet eyes dancing.

Amerika's chin tilted up a notch more. Her blue eyes blazed up at him defiantly. He noticed that the top her blouse was more open than it had been to start. Honestly, scarves had no manners these days.

"Not a chance in hell."

Russia took one step forward, then another. He tilted his head this way and that, as if he were admiring a painting or statue.

His face neared hers and he smiled in the least threatening manner he was capable of with Amerika. It was, dare he say, borderline flirtatious.

"It looks good on you."

The cold smile faded, as if it had never existed, in an instant. Her face turned even more red, high spots of color on her cheeks, and she abruptly started coughing.

"Thank you," She muttered in between coughs that she attempted to stifle.

He hummed in his throat again, feeling vaguely pleased at the turn of events.

"You're most welcome... Amerika."

"Now will you put me down?" She asked, with a hint of malice still at the edges of her words. However, her blue eyes were not blazing the promise of dismemberment anymore.

"I am thinking about it," Russia admitted nearly candidly.

The female nation frowned at him sternly, which marred the lovely image she presented with her business skirt pushed slightly up as the scarf seemed to slither around her.

"Think you could hurry up the decision a bit?" Questioned with impatience. "This is starting to chafe."

Ah, interesting. Was Amerika's skin truly that sensitive? It must have been from her sedentary life style-

"Stop thinking I'm lazy, asshole!"

Russia blinked. He paused, and blinked again. For a moment, the fleeting thought that she was smarter than she looked did cross his mind. It piqued his interest even higher as he recalled that in her youth, America had been a tad vicious.

After all, back in the old days, many would not have slaughtered invaders while they slept on the holy day of Christmas.

With a sigh of resignation, because he would have to release her otherwise this would be considered _'Sexual harassment'_ or some other Amerika nonsense... Russia relented. He tapped two fingers to his scarf, and with great reluctance, it slowly withdrew from the female's form. Russia nearly snickered in amusement at just how slowly it was accomplishing the task.

He would not have been surprised if Amerika slapped it and called it 'Fresh'.

The Star-spangled nation stayed flushed, and the high spots of color on her cheeks were as distracting as the curiosity in her blue eyes. Amerika smoothed down her clothes, and re-buttoned the top button of her blouse. Russia watched her quietly, contemplating.

"Thank you," Amerika said quietly, as she righted the chair that had turned over, and grabbed her briefcase.

"You're Welcome," Russia said again, as his violet eyes took in the change in her demeanor.

Honestly, he should have known she would attempt to get the last word. However, it did not cross his mind until Amerika was almost at the door. The embarrassed and shy way she had acted before, dropped away, as her shoulders straightened.

Russia's pale brow arched, as he could feel the shift in the air.

She turned toward him, a sultry look in her gaze as Texas flashed. The annoyance he knew was gone, as was the blushing maiden, in their place stood someone that he would almost describe as a... Temptress.

Blue eyes bored into his, as she wet her lips.

"Oh Russia?"

He tipped his head toward her in acknowledgement, watching her like a hawk.

"It's a matching set," Amerika whispered with a saucy wink and a sway in her hips as she left him.

Russia blinked as she disappeared. HIs violet eyes turned a darker and smoky shade as he processed her words. His lips twitched into a smile.

"I will never doubt your taste in women again," he said as he patted his scarf gently.

The scarf twined around his neck slightly tighter, but just so it was snugly where it used to be.

OoOoOo

Three weeks later, America was opening her daily mail.

After the scarf incident, things between herself and Russia had still be as politically dead-locked as they always were, but he'd stopped insulting her at every possible opportunity. He'd switched to every other opportunity, and it left America feeling a bit flattered.

That was true, up until she opened a manila folder and read the documents contained therein.

Her face flushed, her heart raced, her hands clenched, and her right eye began to twitch behind Texas. Nantucket stood straight up in anger.

The shout that followed was heard all the way to the Canada and Mexico, where her neighboring nations shivered and went back inside their respective homes to avoid her wrath.

"MY VITAL REGIONS ARE NOT PROPERTY OF RUSSIA!" America howled in fury.

What made matters worse, was that the Slavic nation had made certain to attach a note, letting her know he'd sent copies to her Allies... to avoid any confusion.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Huzzah for reviews. I know some of you don't like the disclaimer... but I have to have it. Sorry!_**

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas. Also, inspired by a Song called 'Tell your heart to beat again'._**

**_I own nothing. Rated T. Thank you for reviewing. DRABBLE_**

**_Please note, this is only a STORY, and should not be intended to cause offense in anyway. _**

OoOoOo

Russia's heart had the tendency to pop out of his chest.

That was not a figure of speech. It simply did it. Why? He had several theories, but no concrete evidence. He had seen a great deal in his long life span. Yet, when it did happen. It was highly inconvenient to have a dead heart flop onto someone one. Though it could be amusing, when England screamed like a small child. As did France. However, the most common reaction was disgust.

Though he understood the reaction, it annoyed him to no end. Yes, he was aware that it was strange. He did not need a reminder about that fact. Some would attempt to push the heart closer to him. The grayed flesh, from decades of disuse, would always seem to stare at him accusingly. Russia knew it was all in his head. He wondered why everyone else did not have this troubled luck.

Just Russia.

He sighed as he felt the familiar hollowness again, and watched dispassionately as the useless organ tumbled from under his shirt and to the ground. It rolled until it was a few feet ahead.

He sighed heavily.

Some nations skirted away from it, and others averted their gaze. Russia knew that none would stop in the middle of the hall to assist him. It was not expected.

His violet eyes narrowed on his treacherous heart. So involved was he, that Russia failed to notice the nation that changed direction and went toward the Heart.

A pair of brown leather shoes paused directly in front of the organ that laid unnaturally still upon the floor. Some small smattering of blood pooled around it. A feminine hand reached for it, without pause. Russia scowled, wondering what taunt was going to come from that loud mouth today.

It was her calmness that surprised him first. The way her features morphed into an expression of kindness.

She grasped the heart in her hands. America cradled it to her, as if it were infinitely precious. Her blue eyes softened, and there in her hands, Russia could feel the concern and care that seemed to nearly radiate from her.

"Beat." America said clearly, but quietly.

What the hell was she doing? He cocked his head to the side and watched her, as she safely held his heart. Her gaze was riveted on the lump of flesh in her hands. He nearly snorted with contempt. Did she honestly think that was going to work?

"There is nothing wrong with you." America said lowly. "So _beat_."

A tingling started in the hollow space where his heart belonged.

Russia stared at her, mute in mystification. His words failed him in an instant. The urge to snarl at her for the return of his heart died upon his lips. Violet eyes were entranced by the expression on her face.

His chest suddenly constricted. Russia clutched at it, in pain. It... it _hurt. _His brow broke out into a cold sweat. He felt slightly dizzy. Confused and vaguely afraid. What was this?

America smiled then, serene and sweet. His vision blurred as she came toward him. He could see the brilliant red where gray had once been. It was moving. How was it _moving?_

"It's alright now." She said softly. Nearly cooing at him, as if he was something small and hurt. Russia was a strong nation. He did not need her! Nor anything to do with her.

Russia made a move to push her away, but America would have none of it. She kept a gentle hold on the heart as she battled him for access to his chest. She lifted his shirt, despite his slurred protests. With the greatest of care and tenderness, she pushed the organ back where it belonged. It slipped in seamlessly, and Russia could only widen his eyes at the sensation of his skin knitting back together over where his heart was.

Something instinctual told him that it was not coming out again.

He could feel it! The familiar thumping he had thought was long gone. The sensation of warmth flooding his veins in a rhythmic pattern. His heart... it was actually... it was beating.

Violet met blue, partially hidden by the flash off of Texas. America's hand rested on his chest. Her skin felt cool against the rush of heat that pulsed through him. She didn't say a word, but smiled at him happily. And, Russia felt a second shock echo through his thoughts, that his heart... which had remained stubborn against him for decades now... was beating.

For America.

He felt unsure and startled by what transpired in a mere few seconds. Minutes, perhaps? She'd done the impossible for him. And, he was slightly in awe of that fact. Even as she turned and walked away from him, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Russia felt that, just maybe, he had fallen the tiniest bit in love with the annoying Star-Spangled nation.

OoOoOo

Alone, in a darkened room, America sat on her bed. Her face was filled with sorrow and anguished longing. Her hand was on her chest, a deep whisper of pleading filled the quite space.

"Beat." The broken tone begged. "Please, beat."

The echoing silence was her only answer, as tears slid down her cheeks. Why? Why could she do it for others, but not herself?!


	18. Chapter 18

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas. _**

**_This is also heavily inspired by Steven Universe off of Cartoon network. XD Caught an episode or two and this pairing wouldn't let it rest! If you are confused, follow the link. watch?v=Vi65_SziKU _**

**_There are lots of strange concepts in this. Just roll with it for me, please?_**

**_Dances used at the 'Lindy hop' and_** _**Russian traditional folk dance by 'Ansambl' Tanca Sibirianochka'**_

**_Thank you my lovely reviewers! I know this time of year is very busy for everyone. So I hope you are all well!_**

**_Not meant to cause offense in any way, shape, or form. :)_**

**_I own nothing. ;)_**

OoOoOo

When the newest 'gem' came into being, it was puny and tiny. The United Kingdom, UK for short, was not impressed by the child that should have been closer to him in appearance. It was... a runt. To put it mildly. They called it Sealand due to its coloring and unremarkable nature.

The most powerful warrior amongst the bunch, aptly named RusAme, took an instant liking to the boy. It was oddly, uncharacteristic for the giant and haltingly strong gem. But, there was something about the gem that caused Sealand to feel safe and at peace. There was a happiness buried deep within RusAme, that sparkled sometimes out of the strange half-Star on his Temple.

For a long time, things were peaceful. Sealand had begun to learn his place. He was young, tenderhearted, and gentle... when the war came. Through no fault of their own.

Therefore, when the power the group of known warriors had, was challenged by those wishing to usurp the control of the home world from them, it was Sealand who was the most surprised when RusAme was pierced through the chest by the weapon of a gem named China. Little eyes could not help but witness how RusAme was cleaved in twain and from 'him' came both a male gem and a female gem.

He had never seen them before. They looked so vastly different from each other. The female gem, vaguely reminded him of...

"What?" Sealand marveled in disbelief at what was before him. The question was quiet and rhetorical in nature. The only way he could respond, as he clung to UK's side.

"Oh bloody hell," UK snarled softly. His emerald gaze was horrified and huge. His features twisted with fear. Due to his older nature, he knew what the child did not.

Just how bad this was going to turn out. He shoved the child further behind him.

"Stay there, and stay quiet," the UK warned in a tone that caused Sealand to freeze. He did not understand the danger, but he knew it was present. So did the fearful gazes of three others that Sealand knew.

But the scene before them was only just beginning to unfold.

"Ah," China muttered with distain, as he glimpsed the burning hatred in Russia's gaze. "I see now."

Dark eyes swung to the female gem who gasped and sputtered, her star glowing brightly as she settled into her original form for the first time in _thousands_ of years. She was slightly prone, leaning against a wall for support.

"This is the _America_." He said tauntingly, as he drew closer.

Russia watched, like a bear ready to maul at a moment's notice. China was provoking him. Which was not a smart choice. They had a history that spanned back since almost the beginning. They had been friends once, nearly to the point of fusing out of comradery. Now, there was only rage in the larger gem's eyes.

Nearly insane rage.

China grabbed America and yanked her upward. The female gem got in a good punch, but it was a nearly futile effort, as she was backhanded for her trouble. She was strong in her own right, judging by the slight drop of crimson on China's cheek.

"Oh my," he purred sinisterly, "Now I understand what was so appealing about her, for _you_." Jealousy simmered in the space between his words.

He titled America's chin upward so that she would look him in the eyes. Yet, he needn't have bothered. She was staring at him with a look akin to _pity_. China stilled as he recognized the expression on her face. It was almost as if she was attempting to warn him with her eyes alone. He swallowed reflexively, feeling a moment of longing for what could have been between him and Russia.

The warrior would not have him now. Because of this gem, held in his vice like grip. What could she possible have that China did not? He was better than her in ever possible way! Yet, Russia clutched to her possessively. Unwilling to even be parted from her. It was an abomination. A disgrace! Yet, China longed for the lofty position America held in Russia's world.

"Perhaps I should fuse with you," He nearly whispered. It was an extremely volatile statement and threat. If they were combined, then Russia would go back to how he had been, before the rebellion.

Blue eyes watched him sadly. Sliding closed in resignation.

"Oh darlin'," America drawled out in a gentle tone. "That was the stupidest thing you could have possible done."

China arched a brow in question. He was without a doubt, far superior in strength to them. Any of them, even when they had been RusAme. Or so he thought. Until the tidal wave of fury crashed into him. Russia's eyes were a fathomless pit of inky-violet murderous intent.

China... China was barely given the time to defend himself as Russia crashed into him like a gem possessed. He dropped America in his shock, and she moved with grace and speed toward the others. The UK looked nearly petrified. US smiled at him brightly, trying to reassure him in a way she clearly did not feel.

"Its been a while," she commented as her fingers brushed his briefly. His green eyes glanced down, warming for the single stolen moment they had to enjoy this. Sealand's eyes darted to the female gem.

Her blue gaze caught his. Blue... just like his. Thought blue eyes were not exactly rare amongst them. She grinned at him them. And, his heart started to pound just a bit faster.

"Hiya Sealand," America said in a soothing tone that was still somehow filled with a gentle happiness. "Its so nice to finally meet you."

He gawked at her, choosing to hide behind the UK's leg. A blush stained his cheeks.

"Hello."

"I'm America." She continued on, speaking to him as one would a child. Filling the rough silence between the awkwardness. She smoothed over it as if it never existed. She was...

So different from RusAme, who never said much of anything where the others could see.

Her kind gaze turned hard, as they heard the flurry of blows exchanged not far from them. She blinked, looking slightly haggard but determined.

"Stay behind me, okay?" She questioned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. He warmed at the touch.

She stood in front of the pair of gems, keeping them behind her. Russia was already tearing China's limbs from his torso. Mindlessly turning the gem back into a inanimate object without form. Then his rage turned toward the other rebels.

"You will not possess what is mine," Russia snarled out, in blatant challenge. Several attempted to flee.

They never got very far. Just like last time. America winced, and the UK blanched as the out of control gem began to pound the stones into true dust. Killing them for eternity. Sealand's eyes were swiftly covered. He should not witness this carnage. It was sacrilegious amongst their kind.

"He's not stopping," UK commented harshly.

America made a humming noise.

"Yeah, I know."

"Can you?" He asked with a quaking tone, that Sealand did not fully comprehend.

"I hope so."

"Do you have to-?"

There was a hint of something there.

"Its the only way I know how to." America said lightly. Much too light. It sounded strained. "If it goes badly, take Sealand out of here."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Russia won't hurt me."

"You don't know that."

Her lack of response was slightly damming.

Sealand could only barely make out a figure from the cracks in UK's fingers over his eyes. The curiosity of a child burned brightly, as he fought back a whimper from the look in 'Russia's' eyes. It was soul searing in its fury.

His gaze was drawn by the movement. The sound of music pulsing around them. It was upbeat and happy. It was... It was... America! Her gem glowed brightly in a tri-colored hue. Her body moved in time with the music. She kept dancing as the male gem came closer and closer. His own gem started to pulse. Soon they were moving around each other. In a dance that was fluid and elegant. Wholly theirs.

Something about the act felt very private. Very intimate. The way he moved her in his arms. It almost gave the appearance of a chase. With Russia following after America's movements. Trailing them, nearly. Yet their turns and dips were elegant and in perfect unison. Their bodies shimmered, turning into a form of light. Sealand could only watch as her star gem was meshed with Russia's more diamond shaped gem.

Then, it was over.

RusAme stood where the pair had been.

Without a word, the larger gem walked toward Sealand with a strained smile. UK watched warily, hands reaching toward his own weapon, until a slight shake of the head caused him to still.

"I can tell you have some questions," RusAme stated, sounding much more like America. Softer. Gentled. Not how RusAme normally sounded at all.

Headless of the battle, 'He' reached for the child gem, brushing a finger across Sealand's gem. A slight fissure of light jolted into the child.

OoOoOo

Thousands of years ago, the planet was much different. The technology was a far cry from what it was now. It had been simpler, back then. The hierarchy had been somethin totally unrecognizable from the modern homeworld.

Russia and America were powerful gems in their own rights.

And frankly, they wanted _nothing_ to do with each other. At all. Their first meeting was a doomed one, and every meeting after that. Wars were far more common, and they butted heads constantly. Russia felt that America was to brash. America thought Russia should mind his own damned business. He was irritated that she constantly fused with her partners to grow stronger.

She thought he just hadn't tried it enough to understand how beneficial it truly was.

Until the day, in the midst of battle. Their army was nearly destroyed. The vicious invader... was of their own ilk. The battle was grueling. It shattered morale and lives. A glittering meadow of gems, the essence of the dead, was visible for as far as the eye could see. In a moment of sheer desperation, America's and Russia's gazes met. They faced off against a foe that neither of them could ever hope to defeat on their own.

They hated each other. Passionately. Even the smallest detail could not be agreed upon. Hadn't they been arguing over rain this morning? She called it a drizzle, he called it a storm. It had been nineteen minutes of utter petty squabbling.

Her blood caked lips parted, her fingers reaching for him, as she still sought to shield her fallen partner. The Canada was unconscious on the ground, barely able to cling to his form. Her most trusted fusion partner was in grave danger. The enemy was coming for them. Ready to lay them low. A sinister and wicked gleam in citrine yellow eyes. America made the decision then, as her tourmaline orbs met bright Taaffeite.

She said the fateful word that would change everything about them.

"_Synchronize." _

Russia's eyes, even the one swollen from the beating he had taken by multiple opponents, widened in surprise. As if beckoned by her thoughts, an up beat swinging music started to emanate from her gem with a pulse vaguely reminiscent of French horn. He looked at her with contempt, but seemed to understand her line of thought, for his own gem pulsed in time with hers, sounding more of sweet string music.

It was obviously not a practiced dance for the pair. Even the enemy that would attack them was given slight pause by watching the faster movements of America, versus the wider steps and dips of Russia or the parts where he stood still. It lasted perhaps a minute at most, before their bodies turned into glowing light and her gem swirled around his and they fused.

Where two had been, vastly different from one another, stood a single entity. An entity that looked downright furious with its greatly changed form. Longer hair, the color of ash and mingled gold, caught the breeze and an androgynous face narrowed deep purple eyes. Those present could only gape, at the first ever fusion between them. It was stark and utterly terrifying.

The sheer power they held combined.

The battle was nothing short of a slaughter, after that. It became a legend of destruction amongst their people. Or, it would be.

When at last, things had calmed considerably, their united form came undone. Allowing two forms to exist separate from one another. America gasped as she took her normal form. A broad smile on her tired face.

"Dude," she began, turning toward Russia,"That was awesome-"

She never finished her praising thought, for the male gem stalked toward her with the grace of a deadly predator. His eyes held some sort of secret that America could not decipher.

"If you fuse with anyone except me," Russia promised with eyes that were mesmerizing in their intensity, "I **will** kill them."

America swallowed briefly, staring at him as her star-shaped gem glittered on her temple.

They had been in perfect harmony. Something infinitely rare. Neither had felt anything like it before.

"Ever?" She questioned watching him as if she could not look away. Concern and disbelief warred within her. How could this gem, who had hated her for nearly two thousand years, suddenly demand she fuse with no other? It was preposterous! So, why did she think he was telling her the absolute truth? She shivered, there in his arms. The grip on her was nearly punishing. As if, he was aware, she would bolt the moment her released her.

"_Ever_," he confirmed with crisp enunciation.

Anger boiled in her veins. Indignation brought a faint blush upon her cheeks.

"I don't answer to you." She hissed out, trying to recoil from him but unable to get very far at all.

That made him snort with amusement.

"I know what you are to me now." He said with a tone that was both firm and filled with a depth of emotion that startled America.

"It doesn't matter," She argued, breaking his hold on her. "I'll fuse with whoever the hell I want."

His violet eyes narrowed.

"That would be very unwise."

OoOoOo

Russia, was true to his word.

When America attempted to fuse with Canada, in the heat of battle, they were forcibly ripped apart. By none other than Russia. The look of madness about him was something that haunted her for many centuries to come. She could not stop the raging beast he became, smashing Canada out of his physical form.

"Stop!" She shouted, horrified and slightly afraid.

"I warned you." Russia ground out, turning to face the sea of startled gems. "I _warned_ you."

It was the last words he ever said to her out loud. America was not prepared for being forced into a fusion. Her gem had no chance to truly synchronize with his, and her physical appearance was mostly swallowed whole by his will. When they were joined, his every thought was meshed with hers. America's fear, Russia's fury. Her resistance, his longing.

His need and fixation on the Star gem was not exactly unheard of. Yet, the devotion he held for her was terrifying to America. They were just barely not enemies, but now she was unable to deny that he would kill for her. He would bath the worlds over in blood and stone dust if need be. She could sense it about him. The way he wrapped them even more tightly together.

The protests of the outside world died upon their unhearing ears.

They were separate. But never to be separated. He could not tolerate the thought. The sense of emptiness that had filled him on their parting was too much. The mental presence of America recoiled at the thought, not truly understanding why he felt so strongly about this. Yes, it was a humbling experience, but she had no urge to destroy. His mental image brushed against her's. Possessive, intense, and never-ending. He would not release her. She would be with him until the stars burned out in space, and the planets collided into countless Suns.

They would never fuse with another. They were perfect together.

No one else.

America knew he would never permit it. And, just how sincere he was about keeping her for himself.

And, that is exactly what he did. For thousands of years. She had been companion to only Russia for well over seven millennia.

OoOoOo

Sealand's eyes welled with unshed tears.

"Are you a prisoner?" He asked in a child's frank honesty.

RusAme grinned and started to laugh. America's eyes seemed to shine through the androgynous face. Indecision played across his features for a brief moment. Then a vauge sort of fondness seemed to shine through his eyes.

"No." 'He' conceded. "Though there was a time when I would have answered differently. This is simply... how Russia loves. How... we are. It is a force to be reckoned with."

"He scares me."

Lips quirked at the honest response.

"Sometimes, he scares me too. But, he is mine, and I am his."

"Are you America?"

"I am both." RusAme said sincerely. "I am Russia, and sorry to frighten you. But, I am also America, and I will always protect you. Then, by the same turn, I am neither. I am... RusAme."

Sealand grappled with the idea. Clearly out of his element.

"Will you ever be separate?"

RusAme shook 'His' head solemnly.

"I must never be separated, if it can be avoided."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts Russia." The very feminine voice said softly. America shining through plainly for a moment, they were nearly out of sync. But her form waivered before solidifying again.

A look of betrayal flashed across the UK's face, but RusAme started at him intently.

"You always knew it would come to this."

The UK turned away, looking defeated by the way events had unfurled.

"She was mine first."

RusAme snorted at that, dismissively and far more masculine. The feeling of rage was muted only by the visible warring of emotions on 'His' face.

"She was always, and **will** always belong to me." He snarled out.

The other gems said nothing.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas. Or Dungeons and Dragons for which this story is based off of. _**

**_Thank you for your reviews!  
_**

**_WARNING CHARACTER DEATH!_**

OoOoOo

She was by far and large, the worst Cleric Ivan had ever seen.

Wait, no, that wasn't quite true. If he were being entirely honest, she was an excellent Cleric, by society's' standards. She was sick image of lightness and goodness. It was all about preserving life, helping life grow, and all the other nauseating ideals she sprouted. Ivan wouldn't say he _hated _her precisely, but he despised when she started speaking about anything related to her faith or her God.

But she laughed too much. She was never serene and stoic. Amelia was far too vibrant to be a Cleric. Frankly, Ivan was amazed that she made it through training. She seemed the sort that would lose her tomes and cause chaos. They had been together, adventuring, for a few years now. Not terribly uncommon, for they worked well together. Sometimes they joined larger groups and though Ivan could not understand it, many a warrior and theif had complemented him on Amelia.

Needless to say, Ivan worshiped an entirely different God. One of battle and for the hardened warriors. A God that held no love of weaklings. Which he suspected Amelia of being, but she was a Cleric that could heal him from even the gravest wounds. So, therefore, it was entirely logical that he put up with her as he did. His sweat-slicked temples ached with the headache that she nearly instantly caused. He winced as the pressure of the dungeon changed. The dimness that was hard to see through, disguised a host of vicious and nasty traps that could end any adventure's life in an instant.

He could tell exactly where Amelia was, slightly behind him, by the sounds of her steps and the fain silvery-glow that she cast. Because, she _had_ to pray to her God right before they ventured into this darkened pit of despair. The local inn at the city had warned them that great treasures were guarded by fierce abominations and monsters. Ivan was a warrior, unafraid of danger.

Amelia had been quitter than normal, something he would normally thank every deity for, but it unnerves him this time. She grabs his hand, once, right before they find the cavern the people spoke of.

OoOoOo

Death was coming for Ivan.

He swallowed heavily. The bitter taste of coppery blood in his mouth, was a grim reminder that he'd been bested in battle. One limb was rendered useless, having been hacked to a nearly meaty pulp by the undead. Only one eye was working, as the other was too swollen to offer him any chance of depth perception. Yet, even in the dimness that was only broken up by unholy dark fire that littered the vast cavern, Ivan could see the newest wave of undead approaching. Their shuffling steps and the stench of rotten flesh falling off their gleaming white bones.

Some of them, it seemed to him, had been previous adventurer's.

He was prepared to die. Though it grated against him fiercely to join their ranks. Turned into a shambling monster, with his soul called back to a husk. His split lip stung as she murmured a prayer to his God, not for protection -no, that was up to Ivan to protect himself, which he had finally failed-, but to keep his soul form the Lich that would call it back from Ivan' earned resting place with his God.

Nothing answered his murmured plea. There was no glow of light, as Amelia received, nor did his God come down and save him on the battlefield. It was alright, Ivan knew that his God had heard him. That was all he needed. He valiantly attempted to move out of a prone position. HIs muscles overused and his many wounds prevented him from being able to stand. Yet, he would die with honor.

A flash of silvery light drew his attention.

Suddenly, Amelia was before him, or more accurately, she stepped over him. Her dirt-streaked face, and flushed cheeks betrayed the fact she was attempting to appear calm. Stoic, even. Which was so out of place for her. With her animated reactions to everything. Silence seemed so strange from her. For a heartbeat, he wondered if he were dying and having hallucinations. It was not unheard of.

The whisper of her robe as it brushed against the stone floor of the cavern made him shudder. There was a soft and nearly holy warmth that radiated from her. She was a source of life, in a vast array of cold death. But, it meant she was real. His fingers twitched, and his throat ached as he wanted to warn her to run.

Foolish Cleric.

She'd gone the wrong way. Now all that Ivan had done to protect her was rendered worthless!

Her golden locks were akin to a crown atop her head, as that same silvery light of her God clung to her. Amelia knelt beside him. Her warm fingers were gently pushing back at his blood soaked and mangled limb. A strained smile, was evident on her lips. The tightness in her eyes, was more than Ivan had ever glimpsed before.

"Found you," she said gently. Nearly tenderly.

It made Ivan's already pounding heart, beat faster. Which was not good news for his injuries. Yet, just as he realized that thought, there was a pulse of warmth into his arm. A soft light encased him, taking the pain away in an instant.

She was healing him?

What for? They were as good as dead. Surely, she had to know that?

Amelia, turned her face away, staring out at the wave of dead that were almost upon them. Her hand was steady, as she reached for her holy symbol. Ivan could not hear the prayer she whispered, but he could only stare in blatant disbelief as the undead toppled over in bursts of flame. Natural fire. Fire that was red and orange, and crackled as it danced. Not black and blue flames of silence or death.

The flesh on his limb was slowly knitting back into place. Amelia did not budge. The disbelief and wonder of her choice was etched on his features, but she did not look at him. She was staring at something farther off.

A loud and amused boom of laughter answered his unspoken question of what could hold her attention so fiercely.

"A Cleric?" The tone was deep and sinister. Etched with the malicious and evil intent. "It has been a long time, since a Cleric came to me."

Amelia did not stiffen, nor did she react. Her blue eyes glanced as the shambling dead continued forward. Her holy symbol glowed as she brandished it against the advancement. Bright bursts of flame answered the wailing calls of the dead.

"How amusing." The lich continued, and the sound of his voice caused Ivan's skin to crawl in revulsion. "What fun we will have, little Cleric. So much fun."

"Run," the wounded warrior demanded of Amelia.

"Never." She bit out, still refusing to tear her gaze away from the threat.

Just as he had taught her. There was a burst of pride at that thought. In his weakened state, however, he could not protect her. He could not shield her.

"What pathetic lesser God, do you worship?" The lich continued conversationally, as Amelia went about keeping the corpses at bay. "Is it Pelor?"

Pallor was a greater God, everyone knew this. It was a grave insult to imply otherwise. Ivan had always assumed that Amelia worshiped him, because it was the most common deity for humans. Ivan being an exception.

Amelia did not respond, and he could sense that it amused the Lich even more.

"Nothing to say? Oh come now, come now, where are your manners?" The unnatural abomination taunted.

"Ivan," Amelia said lowly, as the waves came in stronger and stronger. "When you can manage, you need to leave."

He nearly huffed in disbelief.

"You're telling _me_ to run? Like a coward or a cler-"

The end of his sentence died upon his tongue as she did look at him then. There, in her eyes, was a maelstrom of power that Ivan had never witnessed prior to this moment. Amelia, nearly had him in awe. Glowing in her gaze, was something so infinite and vast that he as a mere human had no proper words for it.

"I don't worship Pelor," she said nearly evasively. "You must leave, Ivan. Do you understand?"

It was as if she had commanded him, his body started to lurch into a strained siting positon.

"Amelia..." He protested.

"Did you know that clerics can marry?" She asked, apropos of nothing.

Ivan blinked.

Her hand brushed over his temple, with aching tenderness. There was something in the way she touched him, and Ivan felt his heart shudder in his chest.

Longing.

His fingers twitched as he wanted to cup her cheek. To apologize for the way he had treated her upon occasion.

"Am-"

"Whatever you do," she said in a hurried whisper, "don't look back. You will be hurt, if you look back. So, please, fierce warrior, listen to me for once. Don't look back."

A strangled cry from a undead archer, brought her attention away from Ivan, and she banished the creature, watching as it moved backward with great velocity. The next moment was a blur. He had been sitting one second, and was barreling toward the way he had come in the next. The darkness was a littered with the corpses that Ivan had laid to rest, and the charred remains that Amelia must have been responsible for.

He only heard the cackling of ghostly and sinister laughter, before an explosion of silvery light ricocheted from every crevasse and he was thrown head-long further down the passage way.

OoOoOo

Amelia took a deep breath, stilling herself so that she could face the creatures that would tear her apart in a heartbeat.

Blue eyes focused on the Lich. The blight that had cursed this land. The one that Amelia had sensed back at the inn. The coy and sickening whispers of evading the natural order of life had made her stomach turn.

"Ready to play, little Cleric?" The creature that was no longer living but nor was it dead, cajoled with malice.

Oh, she was ready.

Amelia grabbed her sacred pendant, that denoted her worship of Aurifar, and struck it into the ground. Her knees hit the stone right behind it. The magic driving it further into the stone as she whispered her prayer. The light around her began building in an instant. She was calling for her God. And the Lich recognized it.

"KILL HER! RIP THE CLERIC APART!" It screeched in a volume that made Amelia wince.

"My God," She shouted back over the clamor of the creatures that could no longer touch her. "Accept this sacrifice of the unholy!"

The air pitched and turned in magic, going from stillness to vibrancy.

"Place life here! Oh Aurifar! On those present here, we ask for your righteous Judgment!"

The Lich howled with rage. But the dead were useless against her holy barrier. The hollowed ground. They could not approach.

"Make us as bright, in your gaze," Amelia paused for a moment, smiling in satisfaction to erase this accursed creature, "As the Mid-Day Sun!"

It pulsed through her. The second her prayer finished, Aurifar was pushing through her. His wrath at the abominations present, the insult in the face of life, was something so strong that they were obliterated in a silvery glow of holy fire. It reached every crack and crevice.

The Lich attempted to shield from her, but it was a useless action. Amelia's God, was furious with the presence of the Lich. Aurifar took it as a personal affront that it had alluded or even through of having Amelia amongst the ranks of the dead. Its body, bound together with magic and dark arts, was rendered into ashes.

Aurifar was pleased.

However, there was an exchange for such a punishing judgement. Amelia's frail human body, could not withstand being the Avatar of a God. Clerics were the hands of deities. Worshipers were as children to a God, and thus they rarely meddled in the affairs of the mortals. Yet, this child of his faith, a hand to reach out upon the world, Amelia, had known what she was doing.

A cleric that had been entrusted with the ancient rituals, ones taught only to the most devout, had used it correctly.

To save the life of another, and those directly affected by the undead. And, to lay low one that made a mockery of life.

She had willingly made a sacrifice for his Judgement. Aurifar approved of her actions. And, he would do his best to leave her mortal body as intact as possible. The God reached out and carefully escorted her soul to its resting place. Under his watch and Aurifar judged Amelia as worthy of eternal rest.

OoOoOo

Ivan raised a glass, filled to the brim with strong drink.

"To the best Cleric, I have ever known!" He hollered and his fellow warriors clamored in shouts of approval. They thumped rowdily on the tables, as they drank with their commander.

Ivan's newest group of adventurers.

_It had been two years since that day that he had wandered up from the caverns, confused and still slightly wounded. The healer of the nearest village had claimed it was a miracle he had survived. Nothing short of divine intervention. The careless pat on the back, and saying that his God must have plans for him, was scathing though no ill-intent was meant._

_He had headed back toward the city, and hired others to come with him. The adventurers had agreed readily when heavy coin was waved in front of their faces. He was going to recover Amelia's body. She had to be dead, Ivan knew. It was a hollow pit in his stomach, and ache in his chest that never ceased._

_If she had been alive, the worst Cleric he'd ever know... no, the best Cleric he'd ever known... would have come for him. When he had awoken alone, some part of him, had simply known._

_It had taken the better part of three weeks to get from the day he left to returning for Amelia. As they had pulled the cart up to the entrance of the tunnel that lead down to the cavern, Ivan had been surprised to find a procession of Clerics had already beat him to retrieving her body. _

_They were of varying races, ages, and genders... but they possessed the same holy symbol Amelia had treasured day and night during their time together. Ivan had recognized it instantly. It also, seemed strange to him, that they knew how he was. Likely from their God. _

_They were taking 'Sister Amelia' to her final resting place. _

_Her body was stretched out on a wood palanquin of sorts. Ivan had expected her to have started decomposing, but her body was the same. The silvery glow was absent from her, thus Ivan knew she was truly gone. However, her face still had the same dirt smudges as when she'd ordered him to flee. To him, she looked as if she were peacefully sleeping. _

_Gently, he touched her cheek. It was cold, not possessing her usual warmth, and it jarred him. He leaned closer, violet eyes strangely moist, and whispered in her ear. His parting words._

_"May our Gods let us see one another again. I will do better, next time." He promised._

_A tall and strong warrior watched as the clerics lead her away. To the Temple where she would be buried with all the honors due to her. _

Two years...

He drinks to her and her bravery. Ivan often thinks that she knew she would die. And, if hurts, but he smiles and laughs loudly. He celebrates the day she died. Not because he wants to, no he misses her, but because that is what Amelia would have wanted.

She would want him to be smiling.

So, he will pray and be glad of his days until the end comes. So that he might see her again.

OoOoOo

_**70 years later**._

He's just received his first rank in the Army, and he is bursting with pride.

However, his joy is short lived when a smaller body comes crashing into his. Something hard knocks him in the face. Bright golden hair and wide blue eyes are all he sees, as he lands on his backside.

"Oh my! Sorry!" The woman says, rather loudly, as she scrambles out of his lap. Unharmed and slightly frazzled.

Blue clashes with violet, and the warrior blinks.

"You're bleeding!" The young woman exclaims. Her hand nears his lip. The warrior hadn't even noticed the injury yet. A soft and silvery warmth flows from her.

Something in him clenches, and the warrior's eyes widen.

She smiles at him, a serene and soft expression. Right before a loud chime of bells draws her attention away. She stiffens.

"I'm late!" She says in an animated manner, before grabbing some torn looking tome and darting off.

For the life of him... he did not understand Clerics.

Yet... yet...

Something told the warrior to follow her. And though he has just received his first rank, he chases after the slip of a woman as if he knows her.


End file.
